Walking the GR 130

I've been blethering on about the GR 130 for some weeks now. Poor David. It seems that recently all my sentences either end or begin with 'The GR 130' or at least feature somewhere in the middle. In mitigation, quite a few of our guests for the bed and breakfast accommodation are 'doing the GR 130' and I can't help but feel a little bit of input on my part would make it a more enjoyable experience for people – especially when they don't have the benefit of living here and we do.

For example, I have noticed that many websites suggest that you walk right from Barlovento to Santo Domingo – the hardest part of the entire route and right across the north, all in one go. Perfectly possible of course, but you would probably need to be scooped up and poured into your own rucksack at the end of it.
Ah well, that's all OK if you like pain I suppose. Not to mention an eleven hour walk, almost all of which is up and down ravines.

Hence me doing a new website and my own suggested itinerary for the route.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when I said this morning, out of the blue (well, whilst preparing breakfast for our guests), 'why don't we catch the 10 o'clock bus to Gallegos and walk back?' and the reply was, 'OK then.'
Not that we haven't walked this section of the GR 130 before – just that it's been a couple of years. And it's a relatively short walk given that we needed to be back for more guests arriving. Ah, playing hookey when I should be making beds - lovely!

The adventure begins with catching the bus. There is something completely surreal about it – from the speed it is driven at to the subject matter of its occupants, which generally revolves around goats or potatoes. As usual, the bus was fairly empty, just us and Miguel who thought our plan hilarious and the further away we got from our start point the funnier he thought it was.
'Ha, ha, your house is so far away,' and 'Ha ha, your going to have to walk all the way back again,' and 'Ha ha, ...,' etc. Since this was the entire point, I thought it pretty funny too.

The other bit I like about the bus journey is when you get to Gallegos and the bus driver takes you at great speed down a steep single track road, closely lined with houses. 'You have to watch out for loose dogs,' he calls out to us as we cling on to our seats. Yes, we know from previous experience when there was an oncoming vehicle that at any given second we will make a screeching stop and we all go flying off our seats. It's like having a bit part in a disaster movie. The bit you don't want.

And then of course, arriving in Gallegos, is another adventure. The people there are so different. Our neighbour says it is because many are Cuban or Venezuelan. I can't explain it myself without being rude about certain individuals but you do get the impression you have just blundered onto a hospital ward where everybody is suffering from some sort of physcotic illness. Or just that the party started long before you got there. Enough said.

So of course I haven't even explained yet what the GR 130 is. Well, it is the ancient route which goes right round the island, is approximately 200km long and takes seven or eight days. Preferably more. I call it the Palmathon. David and I however are taking a laid back approach – completing it in something like 8 years. No, no really, this year, we promise to tackle the southern sections that we haven't done yet ....




The walk was wonderful you will be pleased to hear. For most of the time (not the steep, slippery bits with a vertical drop off), I had a daft grin on my face and exclaiming, 'It's just amazing ... what a view ... just look at it ...' and so on. Luckily, we took 71 photos and now that we are back, I can look at the them all again, still with a daft grin on my face.



Photos:
Spying on La Fajana
Going Mexican in Barranco de Franceses
Back at Franceses, consulting the map for the next adventure

Colours of the rainbow

The sun was out to play and miniscule shards of rainwater drifted from the sky like confetti. David seized the moment – and took this photo. It seems to sum up our wonderful Christmas and New Year – bright, colourful and just slightly crazy!
In the lead up to Christmas we had some fairly dramatic weather with a very strong wind. It eventually got the better of the electricity supply and we enjoyed a couple of evenings courtesy of candlelight, as did our lovely guests (hi, Jill and Ian).
In a way, it was quite exciting because the wind was warm, hailing from the south and we also knew that we had been lucky to avoid the worst of it while the south and west had been receiving some sterner stuff.
Meanwhile of course the rest of Europe was being held down by heavy snow storms and freezing conditions resulting in cancelled flights, delays and all sorts of travel chaos and despair. We felt lucky that our guests had made it at all! But they did and were soon rewarded by some absolutely glorious weather with full on sun which stayed with us, more or less, right through the New Year.

So here is wishing everybody out there, guests old and new, a wonderful New Year and hoping that 2010 will bring you health, happiness and your very own sunny rainbow.

Ann and David.

A walk into the green

It was one of those walks – not meticulously planned but with a desire to spend some special time with a special person, don a rucksack and just GO! Admittedly, there was the general idea that we would head down to La Fajana, up to El Tablado then probably up towards Roque Faro and hopefully catch the bus back. Or maybe just down to the sea and back. Clearly a plan which would amply suffice.
The route from the finca down to La Fajana is a well marked one, once on the GR130. It would be difficult to go wrong. Which is precisely why I chose to try and find my way through the unmarked and unofficial section which is not maintained or cleared.
In mitigation, it does make a welcome shortcut and we have done it before several times. In fact, we have even cleared it ourselves. But now it was winter and seriously overgrown and, as we peered down a twenty metre drop wondering how we could join the official path, the cacti had the final word. What a pity – we wouldn't see the lovely cobbled track, laid by noble fellows donkey's years ago.
Ah well, my walking companion was patient enough to not complain when it came to retracing our steps. And the added bonus was that the usual path took us by the mirador which allowed us to see the dramatic sight of La Fajana 400 metres directly below us.
We carried on our walk almost down to the village where we hung a left, crossing the barranco and then headed up the other side towards El Tablado. Here we paused for a bite to eat, enjoying a sit down at the new mirador. From here we could enjoy the view of where we had just walked and the tip of the house.
With rucksacks now a little lighter, we set off to Rosa's bar for a coffee and chat. Rosa never fails to surprise me by the fact that she always remembers who I am and welcomes me as if I am her errant niece. These days, her back forces her to walk with a deep stoop although her sprightly sense of humour is perfectly in tact. How are you Rosa? I asked. 'Ever lower,' she replied with a wry grin.
Waving our good-byes and wishing her good health, we set off up the road and out of the village.
Walking on the road is not always great fun and we were pleased to dive into the bushes where a signpost promised us that this was the way 'Roque del Faro.'
Trudging upwards, we passed goats munching the greenery at the side of the track and houses which had strayed from the village. A couple of times we crossed the road which was taking a more circuitous route than the steep track.
After a goodly time, houses, goats and roads all deserted us and we were alone in the greenness. Occasionally, as energy threatened to flag, we were allowed a peek at the view from where the bushes parted. It was nothing short of awe-inspiring to realise how far we had come and to be in a place which, from the finca, had only ever looked like impenetrable green-covered rock. We even enjoyed some flat sections – always a cause for excitement! (And to sing and dance along in a very stupid manner).
But the best moments, from where the photo was taken, where when we were in our secret world of green. From here, there were no tell-tale signs that the island was even inhabited: we were alone and time was something that did not belong here.

Village of the Little Cross

This is a lovely little hamlet called La Crucita - the Little Cross. It is in the north just to the east of Gallegos - which is the village next to us in Franceses. For reasons you can probably guess, it is often overlooked. But it is one of our favourites.
It is one of those places that looks - to me - as if it has been put it there for a bit of a dare.
If you are thinking of visiting, then I suggest (unless you want a longer walk) you drive down to Gallegos, a village which is an education in itself, and walk across. That way you won't miss the most amazing collection of caves on the way. There are more there than I have seen anywhere else on the island, practically multi-storey.
And by the way, if you are lucky enough, you will meet some wonderful people in La Crucita. It seems they are always pleased to see you, smiling and nodding as if it is you doing them a favour instead of the other way around.
One time in particular, I paused to admire a front garden filled with all sorts of vegetables.
'Would we take some beans?' an old man working the land wanted to know.
Of course we would, we replied. He then invited us into his house - he had something to show us. It turned out to be a large calabaza - a pumpkin - and he insisted that we should take this too.
But that's La Palma for you, people give.