Ashely's solution to the wandering of his animals, is to feed them so well that they won't want to leave. Accordingly, he ordered 270 bales of feed to be delivered at the end of the week. He referred to it as hay but under intense questioning, around the precise definitions of different types of feed, he finally admitted that it was some form of corn. For the record, silage is young grass with a high moisture content that is left to ferment anaerobically in bags or a clamp. Hay is older grass (seeds included) that has wilted considerably and then baled but not sealed. There is little or no grass anywhere in Las Alpujarras. Ashely has bought corn but not only the seed head but the whole stem (would be straw).
Carting the bales down the track is going to be difficult due to the quantity of them and he will use his LWB Sprinter van for this, along with help from a local. By Friday we will be long gone and he's OK with that.
On our last evening the three of us had a great chat, along with a few beers and that amazing view. His family business has been in steel buffing and polishing and so there were stories of manufacturing challenges to share and memories of Sheffield cutlery companies such as Richardsons and Viners. He seemed to know them all. What he didn't know was the description of Little Mesters, the small specialists in Sheffield, who for years were key to the industry, working from small workshops or their own homes in a specific part of the manufacturing process.
We said our goodbyes and headed south over the back of his property from where the Mediterranean can be seen. The view down 1,000m of hillside is spectacular but then where isn't in Spain. In the distance however is a sign of things to come. Large expanses of white polythene covered ground. This is Spain's greenhouse and it's a sight to which all visitors to this southern coastline will become accustomed. If the snowflake generation don't know where beef burgers or chicken nuggets come from, then I'd wager that they don't know where mass produced vegetables are grown either. It's as far removed from a vegetable plot as it could possibly be.
If you walk south from the campsite, the coast is equally grand with an 18C fort on the seashore and plenty of nude bathing going on. Close to where we turned back there was an older couple, standing completely starkers in thigh-deep sea. Just standing there letting it all hang loose. I don't know the woman's name but I think he's Dick.
Carting the bales down the track is going to be difficult due to the quantity of them and he will use his LWB Sprinter van for this, along with help from a local. By Friday we will be long gone and he's OK with that.
On our last evening the three of us had a great chat, along with a few beers and that amazing view. His family business has been in steel buffing and polishing and so there were stories of manufacturing challenges to share and memories of Sheffield cutlery companies such as Richardsons and Viners. He seemed to know them all. What he didn't know was the description of Little Mesters, the small specialists in Sheffield, who for years were key to the industry, working from small workshops or their own homes in a specific part of the manufacturing process.
We said our goodbyes and headed south over the back of his property from where the Mediterranean can be seen. The view down 1,000m of hillside is spectacular but then where isn't in Spain. In the distance however is a sign of things to come. Large expanses of white polythene covered ground. This is Spain's greenhouse and it's a sight to which all visitors to this southern coastline will become accustomed. If the snowflake generation don't know where beef burgers or chicken nuggets come from, then I'd wager that they don't know where mass produced vegetables are grown either. It's as far removed from a vegetable plot as it could possibly be.
These constructions are in the main run by big businesses or perhaps co-operatives. They are tall, maybe 2m high and spread over endless areas. I have no idea where the organic material comes from but outside the soil looks thin and harsh. The spaces in between these constructions is quite squalid with huge piles of discarded polythene and netting, rolled-up and left to sit and blow around.
There are also "farmers" running herds of goats that are fed on the waste produce. So it's not unusual to see huge quantities of discarded grapefruit with goats clambering over them. The people herding these look poor and their shacks are ramshackle. What scales of contrast there are here, in their agriculture compared to what we have in the UK.
It was time for some sea side and we hit the motorway that runs along the coast, the Autovia E15 - A7. I wouldn't want to get into detail about the difference between Autopista and Autovía, I'll leave that to Wikipedia here. It's horrible but necessary to drive this if you need to gobble-up the kilometres and we did. We had coffee in what must be a typical beach resort along this coast and the first person I saw was wearing an England shirt. We had a short conversation about the World Cup and moved on. Destination was Parque natural de Cabo de Gata-Níjar, in an isolated spot east of Almeria.
This is as close to desert as you can get in Spain. The land is barren and rugged and the dwellings are Moorish in style with flat roofs and small windows.
Las Negras is 21 Km from the main Autovía and is in a beautiful setting. The campsite is an easy 15min walk away, behind and below the point from where this pic was taken (view north to the village).
If you walk south from the campsite, the coast is equally grand with an 18C fort on the seashore and plenty of nude bathing going on. Close to where we turned back there was an older couple, standing completely starkers in thigh-deep sea. Just standing there letting it all hang loose. I don't know the woman's name but I think he's Dick.
The weather, having been so depressing on our first days, has now turned typically "Spanish" and we now have endless hot days with the temperature up to 30 deg C. For the first time we have searched out shaded pitches and in this desert region, the shade is man-made and very welcome. High sun combined with a great pool and area around it, make this site top quality. The only downside was that there were jelly fish in the sea and having had a nasty tentacle experience some years ago, which stung Dawn over large parts of her arms and legs, we had just one swim in the sea. It was probably completely over cautious.
Once the sun finally sets, the temperature does drop and during the night we get welcome cool wafting across the Landy through the fly screens in the second row doors. This is where our heads are, so we don't feel too hot.
There's a little clash of generations here, with a lot of young Spanish who were away for the weekend, plus a couple of French women too. There's a lovely period of quiet from sundown to about 01:30 at which point that younger crowd arrive back at their tents and settle down for the rest of the night and much of the following morning. The French women giggled their way to eventual sleep as if they were on a teenage sleepover.
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