A bit of spit and polish

I’ve said it before - this is an odd but not really an unusual lifestyle. Today (Tuesday) Gareth was polishing the van when he was approached by another British mohomer. “You’re spending your holiday polishing!”, he remarked, clearly amused. “Are we on holiday?” we wondered. We’ve been away, now, for three months with another four weeks before we return ‘home’. It is now the way we live; spending summer in our static caravan in Gower and in the winter months, cosseting our arthritises in a motorhome, somewhere warm and sunny. Things need cleaning and servicing wherever we are, so Gareth is polishing our newly washed van and I’m sitting in the sun admiring it. 

The view from the camper

Here in Cabo De Gata, Almeria, reputedly one of the warmest and driest parts of Spain we are parked up on a quiet beach-front sosta (motorhome parking place). This isn’t a bad spot at all for a bit of van-polishing with a view of the sea backed by the snow-topped Sierra Nevada and the gentle smacking of the waves providing a rhythm to breathe and to sleep by; for me, anyway - Gareth’s polishing rhythm is a bit more energetic (that wasn’t a euphemism, by the way!) We are in good company here; other motorhomes of varying sizes, styles and origins, all gathered together with the common wish of finding sun and seclusion. While there’s little chance of seclusion when we are all gravitating to the same places, the motorhoming community is generally respectful of each other’s space and peace. Inevitably, though, there’s occasionally one that isn’t, and they often have a barking dog too.

The sosta at La Fabriquilla, Cabo De Gata

Fabriquilla 

Cabo De Gata is a now dead (I hope) volcanic region, the violence of its fiery history written in the rocks and hill profile. It is part of a tectonic plate that is pushing up against the European plate.  We could see the fold of hills that is the collision point when we visited Níjar, a higher-up town looking out across the land to the coast. An ancient watchtower there is a great place to take in the view, but learning that the area has a history of earthquakes I wondered again about Southern Europeans and their penchant for building as precariously as they do. 

The view these days is very different from the view the Níjar watchtower builders would have had. The lowland shimmers with Almerian agriculture - plastic covered fields. The plastic innovation that enables the growing of fruit, tomatoes, and salad produce has brought much needed income to poor, arid Almería but their pride in the plastic covering being seen from satellite is a bit disturbing, especially when so much of it is often in shreds, blowing in the wind or littering river beds and road sides. It makes a carrier bag beach clean-up look really feeble. We’ve been quite disturbed by the lavish use of plastic here generally. Yes, there are plenty of recycling bins about, but plastic packaging is often over the top and littering, like everywhere, of course, can be a real spoiler. However, the Natural Park of Cabo De Gata is thankfully free of plastic coverings, it’s beauty as a vast, dramatic rockery garden surrounded by a blue, blue sea and sky, well worth spending time in.

An old lava flow

Flowering plants everywhere

Gareth had taken some persuading to drive up to Níjar. He’d been enjoying the hills on his mountain bike but on Monday I had a sudden need of a magpie day. Learning that Níjar is known for Almerian  pottery shops and the rag rugs know as jarapas, I wanted a day browsing for things to take home. The down side of Gareth’s determined towns-avoidance is my lack of opportunity to find souvenirs, and I do not like going home to the grandchildren empty handed. Authentic, locally crafted souvenirs appear to be in short supply, however. Our Spanish ‘Jesus’ had pointed out the folly of European countries like Spain no longer producing much of anything. While the vast swathes of plastic provide for Europe’s salad plates, China and the Far East provide everything else, it seems, to the market traders who clamour for attention in town squares and in popular, widespread Oriental bazar shops. 

House in old Níjar

Pottery shop (closed 😏) 

Nice little place
(Gareth’s photo)

One of this area’s tourist credentials is its having been a film location for many of the spaghetti westerns. A huge metal gun-toting Clint Eastwood welcomes visitors to the little village of Albaricoques. We spent the weekend there in Olivares, a nice little private aire (it had a washing machine! Yay!) and did as all tourists do (after the washing) - followed the film trail, aided by information boards, street names like Calle Clint Eastwood, Calle Lee van Cleef and tried matching scenes from “A Fistfull of Dollars” to relevant bits of the village. A little boy on a bike proudly showed us that he lived in the famous street used in the film. Certainly we could see its essential likeness to a photo on a board but things have moved on, possibly because of some income from the film-makers, and the street is now considerably renovated. The village seems to have missed a trick, though, in not making the most of its fame credentials by finding more ways to take money from the tourists. (WHAT am I saying?! I hate the sorts of places where at every corner there’s some enterprise designed to relieve tourists of their cash!)

Volcanic landscape 

Good ol’ Clint

Los Albaricoques

While I’ve been sitting in the sun giving Gareth encouragement in his van servicing activities I’ve been able to idle contemplatively. The wonder of WhatsApp has enabled me to share my contemplations with my Headless friends, Judy and Jinny (ref. Douglas Harding and an earlier  blog here about Judy’s introduction of me to Headlessness) Their wise words contribute to my sense that life is supremely interesting. Regular WhatsApp chats with my two witchy sisters are also very inspiring.

When I began this blog post, I wanted to convey something of Almería poetically. My best analogy, though, is that it’s like an old, many times handled jigsaw with some bits missing and  bits that must be from different jigsaws. There are some beautiful bits, some ugly bits and some bits that just don’t fit properly, like the plastic covered lowlands and the rows of us motorhomers, some in big, glitzy rigs, littering up the coastline. Yes, the poetry eludes me so, sorry, but I’m not a poet, and don’t I know it! 

Salt from the Cabo De Gata lagoons

Apparently, people put bottles of water on their doorsteps to deter cats
This time they seem to have put bottles of something else!
(Gareth’s photo)