Spring Into Summer

It really does feel like we’re back in the UK as we wander down the high street. We avoid the cable car and the various tour companies and walk the steep route up the rock that defines Gibraltar. It’s an interesting place where nature and military history mingle.

There are Barbary macaques here and they are treated far better than we witnessed in Morocco, it’s an offence to feed them here although that isn’t stopping some people.

Stamped back in we spend some time crossing Andalusia and its wonderful Pueblos Blancos, the small towns and villages, whitewashed to reflect the heat. Usually perched on a hill, each has its own personality and history. Some are very artistic, such as Cortes de la Frontera with poetry and books painted onto the walls. Some, like Setenil de las Bodegas and Gaudix are built into the landscape itself, cave houses carved into the hillsides.

While in the hills we take a walk along the Camino del Rey. A suspended walkway that follows the path of a gorge, we have to take a guided tour and adorn ourselves with uncomfortable safety hats. The views are stunning but the walkways are crowded with different groups tripping over each other. We quickly realise that our guide has no idea who’s in their group and stop worrying about losing the tour and just enjoy the experience.

We’ve been waiting for Easter but not for bunnies and chocolate eggs. Despite not being at all religious we’re keen to experience the Easter processions. We meet up with friends in Priego de Cordoba for the event, they live in the town and their children are taking part.

The processions are more intense than imagined, full of pomp and pageantry and running late into the night. Some of the outfits are borderline menacing and the religious fervour is high.

Important looking people direct the carefully choreographed procession, bells chime, staffs are thumped on the cobbled ground and those carrying the tronos cease their steady, gently swaying and very deliberate steps and drop the tronos onto hidden legs for a rest.

The tronos are the centres of the procession, large wooden platforms, decorated in religious paraphernalia and carrying sculptures of people from the story of Christ.

They are heavy, very heavy, and carried by 80 or more people by my calculations and they look like they are suffering. A lot. But I suppose that is the point. It’s incredible to think that these arduous positions, most hidden under heavy drapes in stifling heat are over subscribed with volunteers.

The event crescendoes noisily into Easter at a hilltop church, a huge crowd mobbing the sweating procession.

It’s standing room only as an animatronic Jesus blesses the boisterous crowd and we are all hold our chickens in the air. Not real chickens, obviously. That would be pandemonium. It’s a chicken shaped crusty bread containing a hard boiled egg. As one, we tuck into our Cheggs (that might not be their real name).

Many are washing it down with beer and I’m passed a can, so I join in this pre-lunch libation. The procession returns to town and the crowd disperses. I am staggered at the amount of litter left behind, mostly beer cans and plastic wrappers from the chickens.

The nearby town of Carcabuey offers an antidote to this seriousness, a fancy dress party that openly mocks the festivities in Priego.

There are bands playing, music everywhere and (more) alcohol. There’s a DJ in an appartment window and dancing in the streets. Occasional mock floats run through the middle of town and the costumes are fun, not intimidating. Not everyone is impressed by this as you might imagine, but I take the view that if something can’t stand to a little mockery, then it can’t stand at all.

North through Spain is taking us through the lands of Don Quixote and windmills and castles are silhouetted on the skyline.

I try to read the book, old Spanish translated into English and I fail miserably, it’s a tricky read and I can’t get into it so put it down for another day.

This is a part of Spain we’ve never visited before. We work our way north through picturesque towns, more castles and energetic walks in the hills. We stop in Laguna Del Marquesado. It’s a quiet village with a middle of nowhere feel. It does have a communal BBQ hut which we make use of before embarking on the walk to the lake. Immediately we are adopted by a dog.

The dog seems to know where we want to go and guides us expertly. It does seem a bit miffed when we decide to walk further, but seems to tolerate our decision, returning to guide us after disappearing in a sulk for a while. We meet some dog walkers and hastily explain this isn’t our dog and we have no idea how it will behave around other dogs – it seems nervous and hides behind us.

Returning to the village we find everybody out in the streets. Speaking with a guy whose house is decorated in Geckos it seems there is a power cut. Not just this village, but the whole of Spain, Portugal and parts of southern France, so quite serious really. We decide to stay another night, no point being on the roads needlessly. We also discover the dog is called Sara and is a truffle hunter. She is returned to her owners.

Back at the van I notice a vulture circling high above. No, not one, but two, err, make that five. The number increases rapidly until the sky is filled with hundreds of vultures. While this spectacle fascinates us, it worries the locals who are predominantly sheep farmers.

The vultures disperse as quickly as they congregated and life returns to normal, well, a power free normal. A flock of sheep surrounds the van then moves on.

It’s been an unusual day.

In the 15th century the town of Trasmoz was cursed and excommunicated by the Catholic church following a conflict with Veruela Abbey over water. This has never been lifted. That in itself makes it an interesting place to visit, but the town is also steeped in legends of witchcraft.

Out of season the castle and the museum of witchcraft are closed (as is the cheese shop), but it’s a pretty enough place, plus we can say we visited a village where the inventor of the mop a bucket lived briefly. That’s quite a lot going on for a village with a population of less than a hundred.