We've been travelling for a little over a month and have stayed in fourteen different places. There comes a time when we just need to pause for a while, relax and stop rushing about. What we need is a little holiday. Nothing is more guaranteed to annoy me than some well meaning neighbour asking when we get back if we've had a nice holiday. If you travel for five months a year you are not on holiday. We have a van life and a home life, being retired and work free doesn't mean you are on permanent holiday. When we are at home going away somewhere different for a week is a little holiday. Conversely, a break from our travelling existence involves staying put somewhere.
The Cabo da Gata fits the bill nicely. The extensive national park is the least developed stretch of Spain's Mediterranean coast, much of the rest of it is now semi-urbanised. Los Escullos campsite is comfortable, attractively designed with good facilities that recently have been updated further. The location is spectacular, in a bowl surrounded by extinct caldera, a kilometre from a unique coastline featuring fossilized dunes, and beautiful walks where the austere, dun coloured coastal hills contrast with the ultramarine sea.
Look south and the cluster of palm trees that surround the old fort by the sea appears exotic, almost Arabic. To the north the white village of La Isleta tumbles down to the water's edge; it could be Greece, in the Mani, or somewhere on Crete's southern coast overlooking the Libyan sea. We haven't done much - taken short walks down paths that disappear into the scrubby landscape, which in early spring is dotted with flowers.
A couple of days ago we pedaled down to Los Escullos beach, admired its spectacular example of a fossilised dune and tried but failed to understand the signage which explained their formation and the geo-chemistry of oolitic limestone.
To be fair the information boards were in Spanish, but even if they'd included a translation I am not sure if I would have understood the science anyway. The other sign was less ambiguous and translated.
We've been coming here for years, before the warning signs were erected. I remember swimming here in blissful ignorance of the risk. I enjoy swimming in the sea but I am not really that strong a swimmer. I am not sure if I would be capable of following the advice about out-swimming a rip current.
Yesterday we headed to La Isleta, the photographs make it look idyllic, and it is. What photos fail to capture is the blustery wind with gusts of 60kph.
The upside is that it clears the air of moisture. The clarity of light is breathtaking. It's easier to cycle around than to walk, especially as the electrics make short work of a headwind.
Today dawned calm and windless. Sadly by the time we decided to go for a bike ride the wind returned. We rode back to Escullos beach heading beyond the curiously wind sculpted dunes to another area of geological interest. Here the oolitic limestone had been laid down in flat slabs to form a pavement
All kinds of small flowering plants grow between the fissures. Gill paused from time to time to take a close-up of any she didn't recognise. As ever we have our Mediterranean Wild Flower book with us for precisely these moments.
The light today is even more spectacular than yesterday. This isn't photoshopped, honestly! The sea really was a deep royal blue on the horizon.
After consulting Accu Weather we are beginning to wonder if we are staying in the windiest spot in Spain, the weather in the Costa Tropica to the west and around Cartagena to the north east is calmer and couple of degrees warmer. We discussed moving on, but nowhere within a day's drive is quite so beautiful as here, nor as empty and undeveloped. Moreover, Camping Los Escullos does a deal - stay for six nights and you get the seventh free. Since this is our fifth day we might as well make it a week.
This being said, the site itself is perhaps the only downside in a place which otherwise is the perfect place to escape a northern winter. To reinforce the point, two of our offspring are in our house right now, Laura on a semi-permanent basis and Sarah and Rob taking a week's break from Hackney by visiting the Peak District. They are snowed in, 10cms have fallen so far today with no let up until 11pm. Last night the temperature fell to - 7° with 'feels like' factor in double figures. So really we should not be moaning about it being 19° but a tad blustery when our garden looks like this...
Nor for that matter should I moan about Camping Los Escullos, it's probably one of the finest campsites in Spain if you love nature and being outdoors. What I find a bit tricky about staying here is more a reflection of my own idiosyncrasies than a fair comment on the place itself. In the winter the site is full of older people escaping the Northern European climate, predominantly British, Dutch and German. It attracts dog owners, hikers, birds watchers and nature lovers. Theoretically we should be a perfect fit. I suppose we are, but isn't a little spooky being somewhere where everyone seems to have been made in the same factory as yourself, stamped with the same batch number?
In the early noughties our daughters loved playing 'The Sims' computer games. There is something about Los Escullos that makes me suspect this is actually not real, but a franchise extension pack called 'Sims Seniors Outdoor Adventures'.
If this is the case I must have notched up a few points today. Gill is knitting Sarah an Aran jumper for her birthday which now less than five weeks hence. The pressure is building to make progress, she reached a milestone earlier when finally after many hours over many days of incanting to herself arcanely "perl three, make three, knit two together", she announced proudly, "I am decreasing".
It looks very impressive, Gill only has the remainder of the front, all of the back and both sleeves to go. It's an intricate pattern that requires concentration, so I decided to let her get on with it in peace without the benefit of hearing my pithy observations about life, the universe and the antics of the Dutch family next door. I took myself off for a bike ride.
A rough track runs eastwards along the coast from here to San José. It is level for a couple of kilometres then zig-zags upwards through the cones of ancient caldera. A couple of years ago I cycled up it for half a kilometre or so, returning because it's not a route Gill could follow, not just because of her knee injury but the descents were too steep for anyone prone to vertigo. Time for a second go.
One difference between my previous attempt and this one is I have changed ebike. The first ones we bought in 2012 were built like tanks, too heavy to manage without the electrics turned on. The one I have now is more of a hybrid between a road bike and a mountain bike, but electrified. Toddling about on urban cycleways or via verdes does not really reveal its potential. On the tarmac today with the electrics on a mid setting it had a surprising turn of speed. Faced with the steep mountain track, in places deeply pitted, loose surfaced and dotted with small boulders, it powered up the slope and proved very stable and manouevrable. This was a good thing as in places there was a sheer drop of 100m or so on the seaward side. In the end I turned around where the track descended precipitously towards the bay of San José.
There are notice boards every few hundred metres highlighting the unique geology created by undersea volcano activity between six and fifteen million years ago. I Whatsapped Gill pictures of some of the more spectacular rock formations before heading back.
The descent proved quite tricky, especially as the wind at the summit was gale force and did its utmost to blow me off my bike. It succeeded only once when negotiating a small crater on a steep downward slope brought me almost to a halt, a sudden gust struck me and ever so gently I keeled over. There was no one around to share the moment. It must have looked quite comical. Overall I was pleased with my minor adventure, at times it had been challenging but I discovered I was fitter and more robust than I imagined.
After week at Los Escullos it was time to move on. When we first visited the Cabo da Gata in February 2015 Los Escullos was the only campsite open during the winter months in the heart of the national park. There were plenty of wild camping spots, but now the local authority has banned staying off grid, though many people ignore the rules. My view is if it protects the park I will stick within the regulations. Anyway, as we get older we lean more towards staying mainly in campsites with only the occasional free night 'off-grid'.
When this year's ACSI guide arrived another winter site was listed in a bay about six miles north of Los Escullos. The place used to be called Camping Caleta, but recently has been rebranded as 'Wecamp Cabo da Gata'. Checking it out on line it seemed to have a contemporary 'eco' vibe, pitched a more at the self catering camping bungalow/safari tent market than tourers. Nevertheless, it looked to have direct beach access and was in a spectacular location. We had definitely decided to give it a go until I checked out the access road to it from nearby village of Las Negras. The final kilometre looked like a nightmare, single track with no verges or passing places and two hairpin bends on steep hills. I chickened out, and proposed we stay a few days at the area autocaravanas in Agua Amarga, a small seaside village at the northern end of the national park.
However, after a week at Los Escullos we needed a supermarket, so wherever we were heading it had to be via Mercadona in San Isidro, about 20kms away. There are only mini-markets in the villages within the national park.
The towns of San Isidro and Campohermoso developed to service the swathe of plasticulture which creeps ever closer to the boundary of the national park. When we first travelled through here by car fifteen years ago these places were little more than villages surrounded by unsanitary looking shanty towns to house the migrant agricultural workers. I do not know if the temporary workforce's working conditions have improved, but their living conditions seem much better. As does the state of the environment which used to be litter strewn and dishevelled. Things look much neater now; however tidiness does not necessarily mean environmentally healthy.
We had a big trolley full of groceries by the time we left the shop, enough to keep us going somewhere remote for a week or so. Agua Amarga is out of the way, half closed out of season and only has a small mini-market. As we headed towards the motorway we noticed a big mosque being built in the outskirts of San Isidro, another positive sign that the needs of the migrant workforce are beginning to be acknowledged.
One stop up the A7 autovia then back down a minor road though the park. If anything the north of the Cabo da Gata is even emptier than the southern part which is closer to the built up area around Almeria airport. We arrived at Agua Amarga camper park. The gates were closed as was the office but the place was packed with mohos. Someone staying in the place turned up and confirmed it was 'completo'.
This was a possibility that we were half expecting. A recent review of the place had observed that it was packed with people in big vans there for the season. There is a simple reason why 'camper parks' are packed with coach sized Cathargos and Concordes. They are so big they can't fit onto standard sized pitches you get in campsites. Seeing a market opportunity, camper park owners usually offer a substantial discount for people who stay for a month or more. In recent years retired 'snowbirds' have been joined by 'digital nomads' as countries like Spain, Portugal and Croatia seek to attract young remote workers by offering special work visas for remote workers. When we first began our winter trips there was no need to book ahead, now we do. Spain's Mediterranean coast from Valencia to Gibraltar is full of people seeking the sun in their autocaravanas. Wanderers like us are outnumbered by long-stayers, and sometimes we find it tricky to find accommodation just for a day or two. For example, we haven't been able to get onto the Malaga Beach camper park in recent years, to the point that we don't even try now.
It was a slightly tricky reversing manoeuvre to extricate ourselves from the entrance, but with Gill on traffic duty at the rear I edged around the blind bend and pulled onto a scrap of waste ground by a big eucalyptus tree so we could think about what next.
Either head north to Madrilles an ACSI site at Isla Plana south of Cartagena, or set aside my nervousness about the road and head to Wecamp at Las Negras. We opted for the latter, Gill phoned them and there was a pitch available. The road can't be as bad all that, I asserted hopefully. Back to Campohermoso and across a different, but equally spectacular road through the Cabo da Gata. So here we are, it's lovely but in one respect I was wrong, the access road is actually far worse in reality than the snapshot provided by Google Streetview.
In fact Wecamp is one of those memorable beach side sites that conforms to some idyllic vision you might get daydreaming of a blue Med day on a drizzly afternoon in the Pennines. At this time of year the site is quiet, at night utterly silent; with no light pollution the starry sky is spectacular. To wake this morning in a wooded rocky valley, planted with flowering shrubs and tall palms feels exotic and precious.
The site has an eco-camp feel, but the new owners have elevated that to make it a bit special, definitely an Ibiza vibe around the small pool and tiki bar.
It seems the place has expanded recently with the addition of scores of stylish camping bungalows and safari tents. It means in high season it's not going to be this quiet. We are probably seeing it at its best.
Next day we decided to walk into Las Negras, it's only 2km but the road clings to a cliff edge and involves a steep climb. The coast is magnificent and the gradient demanded frequent rest stops so we had plenty of time to appreciation it.
After the relative solitude of the campsite Las Negras was very buzzy. It was Saturday and the beach bars and restaurants were crowded.
The place felt like a throwback to the early seventies, but with an Ibiza chill soundtrack.
Most of the sea front is one big building site, the public spaces are being refurbished. Are they really going to cover the concrete benches with Op Art inspired tiling? It certainly seemed so. We are going to have to return next year to see the finished job. Tasteless but striking seems to be the vibe
The sea was crystal clear in the little coves beneath the cliffs but no-one was in the water, it must be freezing I concluded.
Will I get a swim before we go? I am not so brave as I used to be. However when the Mediterranean looks this clear it doesn't require a siren or two to tempt you to dive in, looks alluring doesn't come close to describing its appeal. If its chilly I have a trisuit, I have no excuse.
The campsite is near the beach rather than next to it. Most pitches have a mountain rather than a sea view. Cala del Cuervo beach and access to the coastal path are about a five minute walk away. We took an evening stroll along the beach on our first evening here. You get a great view of 'Cerro Negro' - or in English, more mundanely - Black Hill, . It is a startlingly dark lump of old lava that dominates the view and explains why the local village is called 'Las Negras'.
At the far end of the beach there is a much smaller example of the volcanism of the area - petrified flows of highly coloured rocks. "Are these old lava flows too?" I enquired.
Gill reckoned it was more likely they were outcrops of metamorphosed sedimentary rocks. The coloured outcrops were mixed up with layers of boulder clay. "It's not easy to work out what exactly is going on." She mused. Still she seemed very happy about it all.
On the way back we passed a signpost to Sendero de La Molata, a hiking trail that starts from here and follows the coast to La Isleta and Los Escullos. The first section up to headland to the south of of Cala del Cuervo looked more of a scramble than a walk, but it was tempting.
This afternoon Gill is knitting with renewed vigour as Sarah's birthday next month looms ever closer. She is best left in peace to get on with it. I decided to attempt beginning of the Sendero de La Molata, The first section was as challenging as it first looked, but the view from the summit made the effort worth it. The ruined buildings on the cliff top were covered in spectacular graffiti.
I find it difficult to regard graffiti as an eyesore or anti-social. Humans have been making marks in the landscape for tens of thousands of years. What exactly do they signify - often difficult to say with any certainty, apart from 'I woz ere'. Many creatures mark their territory, but only we use imagery and symbol to assert our presence. I liked the stark juxtaposition of nature and culture that the gaudily decorated ruins created.
I carried on along the track for a few hundred metres. It snaked across the cliff-top, at times uncomfortably close to the sheer drop into the sea. The path was narrow and at times crumbling. I became increasingly uncomfortable. One part of my brain was telling me that the chances of actually falling off the cliff on a calm sunny day were minuscule. The other part felt panicky. Maybe I was suffering from mild vertigo. Whatever it was I could not face a long walk on the edge of a cliff, so I headed back.
We only booked in here for three nights so are due to leave tomorrow. I have not yet had that swim I promised myself. Later in the afternoon when the beach had emptied of weekend visitors I headed there with a day sac full of swimming paraphernalia, most importantly my trisuit, as I suspected no matter how blue and alluring the water looked, it was going to feel bloody cold. Gill accompanied me. These days, I can get into my trisuit no problem, but the gyrations required to get out of it when wet plays havoc with the crushed discs in my lower back. "It's an age thing" a perky twenty-something physiotherapist advised me last summer. "Do these exercises and ignore the pain, its not dangerous, and keeping active will slow the deterioration." So I do.
Stage one - test the water (do I need my trisuit, surely it cant be that cold...)
Stage two - Bloody hell, that was f------ freezing (put on trisuit)
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Stage three - have brief swim...
Stage four - feeling smug hero shot - note forward facing pose (in profile l resemble a geriatric tadpole, not a good look).
As we walked back to the site we wondered - why exactly are we leaving tomorrow? The sunny weather is forecast to continue and it's truly lovely here. We stopped at reception and tried to extend our time. The pitch we are on is one of the few without a low sun-shade frame able to accommodate a vehicle bigger than a camper van. Sadly it is booked-up from tomorrow. We could change pitch, but by the time we have packed everything up we might as well move on. We will come back another year I am sure, unless I inadvertently drive over the cliff on the hair-raising single track road out of here. I am still apprehensive about the access road, walking it the other day did nothing to reduce my nervousness.
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