Across the Tabernas Desert to Cabo de Gata, Spain

Zagan the motorhome’s blocked in, a white box in a tight Tetris arrangement of Spanish Sunday seasiders. Under a hot sun we’re in a free, overnight-tolerated car park alongside the beautiful, clear turquoise waters in the luscious Cabo de Gata nature reserve (N36.73905, W2.207902). There are maybe 30 other motorhomes here and, since our friends departed earlier on, they’re all Spanish.

Parking alongside the beach and sea on the Cabo de Gata. This was a Sunday morning in June – the car park’s since completely filled. We’re guessing it’ll be empty this evening.

The Cabo de Gata beach alongside the motorhome parking

Up in the cool air of the Sierra Nevada (we’re back up to 30+ degrees down here), we spent an evening chatting with an easy-going Scottish couple, Ben and Melissa, who were touring for a few months in a 4×4 with a roof tent (www.kaerus-overland.weebly.com). They’d been in Morocco a month or so ago, heading north when the temperatures down there grew too much. The nights in the mountains of Spain were cold though, and I asked whether the roof tent kept them warm enough. “Yes, we’ve got an electric blanket in there hooked up to an inverter, but we’ve only had to use it once, in England”. Fair enough. They’d had the electric seats on the morning we left though, but really looked like their tiny living space suited them just fine. Looking back at Zagan while stood alongside their clever and rugged, but wee, vehicle our home on wheels looked palatial.

Ben and Melissa, www.kaerus-overland.weebly.com

Waving goodbye the following morning, we eased ourselves off the mountain, topping up on diesel at an improbably-placed Repsol garage half way down. Our fuel gauge light had come on a couple of days ago while moving the van, making us wonder if our prodigious use of air con, coupled with the huge effort to climb so high, had sucked our diesel tank dry. The thought of driving down the hairpins hoping the engine kept running, and with it the engine-assisted brakes, wasn’t palatable. But it was just a glitch, a second time we moved the van across the car park (better places kept coming available), the gauge worked properly and showed two blobs – enough for about two hours of driving, and easily enough to get us down to the Repsol.

As we came close to Granada, we either made a deliberate decision, ahem, in the name of dedicated blog research, to avoid the easy, but dull motorway route, or we accidentally followed the satnav down a twisting, back-knackering road into the hills. You decide, no clues, other than the fact we remain bobble-eyed, satnav-following baboons. The route rewarded our daftness, twisting its way through white and then red-stone gorges, past olive groves and blue lakes and through sleepy, gleaming towns. The air con was blasting away again, fending off the furnace blast from the sky. The slight effort of walking around outside when we stopped at a dam for lunch had me glistening with sweat.

View from the dam at La Peza on the GR301

A short while later we gave in and with relief piled onto the empty, toll-free A92 east and then south, and the hulk of the Sierra Nevada rose up again to our right. Now relaxed, we aimed for a town called Abla, a tiny place with a free aire which, from the photos on the campercontact app, had some shade (we later found there are two aires there, the one we didn’t use was close to the centre but had no shade). As promised, the aire appeared, next to a municipal park which didn’t allow dogs, but did allow guitarists and a local chap acoustically entertained us as he sat practising in the afternoon heat (N37.15456, W2.77762 – great for an overnight journey break). With just a couple of neighbours, we loaded up with fresh water, washed the windscreen, read books and watched Joanna Lumley having an absolutely fabulous time wandering around Greece. I’ve just ploughed through the Grapes of Wrath, a seriously sobering read. I’m glad I read it, and I’m glad I’m done with it.

The next day we checked in with Jenny and Richard (and Richard’s parents Mike and Val), and they confirmed they were still here, and although the motorhome numbers had blossomed from 6 to about 30, there was plenty of space for us to slot in. Back onto the A92, we cruised through the badlands of the Tabernas desert north of Almeria, trying and failing to spot Mini Hollywood in the hills as we passed, filming location of For a Few Dollars More and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly back in the ’60s. Tatty white plastic greenhouses blank out wide sections of country in this part of Spain, apparently devoid of workers and produce at this time of year, but we stared at them wondering about the long, many-handed path vegetables take from here to Sainsburys shelves back home. Eventually, we found the sea, and what a sea. Passing salt flats along a short stretch of coastal road, a collection of motorhomes indicated before the satnav that we’d arrived. White yachts floated at anchor in the cool waters spread off to our right.

Crossing the Tabernas Desert north of Almeria

Yesterday we enjoyed the company of our friends. Snorkelling the crystal clear waters, I spent a daft length of time watching a couple of small flatfish skittering about on the sandy sea bed, vanishing in perfect camouflage each time they held still, re-appearing when they shifted quickly to another position. Jenny was even luckier, spotting a €5 note wafting about on the grainy sand and deftly retrieving it with a fin-flip, before drying it out pegged to their dog-tent on the beach. The fish were abundant, having me wonder whether angling is permitted here. After a cracking six-strong meal out last night we found out the answer when the still-warm beach was strung out with some fifty fishermen. Signs state that ‘underwater fishing, which I take to mean spear fishing, isn’t allowed, which perhaps explains why so many large fish enjoy life nibbling at the rocks here.

Dinner for six. With cold beers, lamb and paella we had a great feast!

Today we’re playing a game with the heat. Being shade-less, we’re hiding with silver screens on and windows wide open. Earlier on, Charlie enjoyed a brief chilling with Richard’s 12V air cool box, but since then he’s been down-graded to a damp towel wafted with our electric fan (set to cool mode). It must be working, as he’s happily snoring away.

Charlie enjoying a cool breeze from Richard’s transcool box

Flamingoes in flight when Ju went out for a run this morning.

Ancient fishing boats and winding gear on the Cabo de Gata beach alongside us

Right, time to root out another book! Once the locals have drifted off this evening, I’ll pop in some contact lenses and snorkel awhile, not a bad way to spend a Sunday.

Cheers, Jay