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Nice
ass, shame about the legs Great walking, memorable food... there was just one thing an injured PETER JESSUP couldn't manage on a walking trip in Andalucia - going uphill on his own two feet On the night before a walking holiday, it's better not to crash to the ground and leave yourself severely bruised in a tennis accident. Black and blue and aching badly as I was, there could be no better arms to fall into than those of Jane and Hugh Arbuthnott. This middle-aged British couple organise walkers' holidays in southern Andalucia which not only explore hidden goat tracks and craggy hillsides but also spoil you rotten. Just when you're gasping with thirst and thoroughly pooped, from the shade of a cork tree up pops a friendly Pablo or Paco offering a tray of cool drinks and local titbits. Forget about rucksacks, cagoules, compasses and Kendal mint cake, this is hiking the easy way; all you supply are the legs and lungs. The walkers - or volunteers as the Arbuthnotts call them - spend their first two nights in a private house on the hill farm of La Alumna, which has ravishing mountain views over southern Spain to shimmering North Africa. It also has a pool, blissful to those with bruised bums. As one would expect of an ex-Black Watch officer like Hugh, the timetable is arranged with military precision, and with Jane's experience of serving up directors' lunches in the City, walkers enjoy rich variations on the local cuisine. A central feature of the itineraries is two nights at their tented camp in the foothills of the Sierra de Libar. This is luxury camping with proper beds, en-suite bathrooms with chemical loos and canvas-bag showers. We breakfasted under the trees on yogurt and honey-fried toast. Simon, our eager young camp commandant, said: "Great, anyone fancy a walk? See that hill over there, we're going up it. To the top." Off we set, Simon all exuberance as he jokingly explained 101 uses for cork, clearly out for no more than an afternoon stroll in his sandals; me nursing an aching thigh and seeing the north face of the Eiger before me while muttering between clenched teeth: "For God's sake man, remember you're British!" Happily, there was no shortage of anaesthetic for our pains. Hugh has compiled a list of 22 wines, sherries and local liqueurs for sampling en route, and it was Rioja around the clock as refreshment was generously dispensed - with the risk of volunteers ending up in a condition not dissimilar to mine: virtually legless. From our tented camp we set off on our longest trek, over the Sierra de Libar. Breakfast was at the village bar of Cortes de la Frontera where the men gather before heading off for the fields, fortified with cognac and with the din of debate rising above the clatter of plates. Our walk was backed up with four donkeys, so when the path seemed to be getting steeper, I pleaded injury and clambered aboard. My noble beast, farting furiously as if in complaint at the extra load, car ried me surefootedly and with surprising comfort up the narrow path. The view was all the more sensational because of not having to watch one's footing. I dismounted to walk along the flat Llano de Libar, strewn with yellow flowers freshened by recent rain. The remoteness of the routes, through valleys bordered by mighty gashed slabs of limestone, guarantees a rich array of wildlife: bird-watchers, supplied with a list of 100 varieties, can twitch with contentment, and there are 24 kinds of butterfly to be seen, from the Spanish Brown Argos to the Moroccan Orange Tip. Before our picnic lunch, the only other traveller we had encountered was 67-year-old Juan, walking to visit a friend with a present, a plastic bag of mature goat's manure. This is highly prized, second only to bat's guano for fertiliser, they say Hugh even gave some to Jane as a 40th birthday present. Descending on to the road, we were met by another guide, Guy Hunter-Watts, handing round -drinks and fresh plums from his garden. Overnight stops have been carefully chosen, one in the attractive hillside town of Grazalema, and the tours end with a flourish in the stylish modem parador perched on the edge of Ronda's dramatic gorge. Great walking and memorable eating, drinking and companionship - but for pains in the butt like me, whatever you do Hugh, don't drop the donkey...
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Safari Andalucía SL, Finca Almuña, Apartado Postal No 20, 29480 Gaucín, (Málaga), Spain Telephone: (34) 952151148 | Fax: (34) 952151376 | E-mail: info@arbuthnottholidays.com |
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