Frontier Holidays Blog

See a great slideshow of his time with Frontier on the Ruta de la Plata by Richard Meatyard

There are also masses of photos from her trip to Europe by Pat Nagle
Look out for Galicia after the shots of London and some great views near the end of walking in the Picos de Europa.

It's been three years since we bought our olive farm in El Burgo and the first spring of 2004 we could hardly cross the raging torrent that separated us from the outer world. Since then you wouldn't have thought it ever rained in Andalucia. We have had three dry warm winters which have played havoc with the growing cycle. Spring flowers have appeared much earlier than usual and record short snap freezes have played havoc with budding almonds and other fruit trees.

These last ten days we have had 250 litres fall and the idle stream has once again turned into a torrent. This is just under 30% of our annual rainfall, but it will take more rain this spring to bring up the aquifers to pre-drought levels.

Our spring water has never dried up but instead of a gushing outlet we've been reduced to trickle over the last 3 years. I'm walking the GR7 next week and we are forecast more rain before then. With a bit of luck some of the early spring flowers should be making an appearance as we walk from Tarifa to Ronda.

GR7 TREK - TARIFA TO RONDA Grade 2
FEBRUARY 11- 18 £615 HALF BOARD


A few places left on one of Spain's great linear treks. Taking in stunning views across the Straits of Gibraltar to Africa, the Spanish town of Tarifa mirrors its own multi cultural history with an intricate street layout that reflects that of any present day Medina in Morocco.

Walking gently but steadily uphill, this ancient trade route that connected Africa to the Caliphate in Cordoba, passes through traditional white villages that once stood guard on the frontier separating Christians from Moors.

The scenery changes daily as we take in coastal hinterland, lush mediterranean 'jungle', and karstic limestone crags.

This really is a unique chance to touch base with Spain's traditional rural way of life; be it with the wizzened goatherd, or the young muleteer.

For a detailed itinerary go to http://www.frontierholidays.net/gr7.htm

And the rain came at last. Just a couple of months prior to the harvest, our olves were starting to shrivel and even drop off the trees. In three weeks we've had about 100 litres of rain and the olive groves are looking much happier. The fruit have filled out again and it looks like we may have a bumper harvest yet. We're keen this year to try and sell some of our own olive oil on a small scale in the UK this season after rave reviews from family and friends. The mountain air and rocky soil certainly make for a green peppery tang which tastes great on salads or poured onto toast in the morning.

Just finished a week's walking with a great group on our White Villages trek. It takes a certain type of person not to get fed up with coming on holiday to the south of Spain only to be met with overcast, damp conditions. However no-one in the group seemed to mind to much, perhaps realizing they were lucky not to get a proper soaking through all week long. Temperatures were mild low 20's so frostbite certainly wasn't going to be a problem. The main drawback to walking in the mist was not being able to enjoy the stunning all round views usually afforded by climbing to 1500 metres.

All of the white villages were once populated by the Moors and this is evident by the winding street layout that has survived to the present day. Our second night's accommodation in the village of Casarabonela was split between a hotel and some quaint small self catering houses in the heart of the village. Unfortunately this did cause more than one of our clients to have quite a problem finding his way in and out of the front door to his abode. Over the dinner table at Bar Nuevo he could be heard muttering, catechism like, under his breath "left at the fountain with the blue tiles, up the winding street, then left and second left by the building materials and 4th door down on right number 19 between number 15 and number 23".

Of course after the food and the abundant wine (part of the reason spirits were so high all week I suspect) we all took pity on John, and had to accompany him back to his lodgings. Just as well, as he might have kept on walking to the next village. So it was no surprise the next morning when he didn't show for our group breakfast rendezvous. Eventually a panting figure appeared in the doorway; "blimey" he gasped, "I reckon I've already done half of today's route! I took a wrong turn and only realised when I got to the village name board on the outskirts."

Phew, it feels like summer is drawing to a close. The nights are longer and cooler, and whilst there is still no sign of the much needed rain, late September usually brings the first storms to clear the air.

August is definitely the go slow month par excellence in Spain, with most of the nation taking their summer holidays at the same time. As a result businesses here lose a large percentage of their workforce, reulting in an almost complete shutdown in production. The knock on effect is felt by just about everybody, and if you want anything made or supplied in a hurry, forget it.

Add on to this the 'feria' factor and you have a complete recipe for the famous 'siesta' as this is the only passtime that can be assured of a 100% success rate. Each village or town has its own date for the feria, or fair. A person from that village has the right to take time off work for the duration of the local fair. In villages this is usually a long weekend, but in the towns and cities the feria can last for a week. You really have no choice but to join in. Either that or go away to avoid the noise. My hairdresser in Ronda shuts his salon for a week and leaves town in order to get away from the increased pandemonium that comes from the clebrities and royalty who descend on the town for the festivities and the bullfights.

If you stay for the party, then you should adjust your daily routine to fit in, otherwise you'll miss the fun! Most people don't go out 'til past eleven at night, children included. The die hards are at it until the last of the small hours. We could hear the music blaring from the village over a mile away til eight in the morning, from Thursday to Monday.

Our friend Juan and his family have a house next to the feria ground. This year they put the matresses against the windows and slept on the floor in the backroom and still couldn't get any shut eye. Of course not too long ago, before the introduction of electric loudspeakers, the live entertainment used natural acoustics. Most locals over a certain age complain to each other about the decibel level but seem reluctant to upset the status quo by presenting any sort of petition to the town hall.

So August is over again, and all the relations who come back to visit family during the feria have now returned to Bilbao, Barcelona, Madrid and even abroad where they now reside and make a living. August really is the social highlight of the year for all villages in Spain, a time for families to come together once again.

August is over and we can all catch up on our sleep.

It started on Sandy's birthday at the beginning of the year, when my wife Tracy asked me when we might think about increasing our livestock. "What livestock?" I replied, before wishing I hadn't. "Exactly," she said "we haven't got any!"
"I'll build you a stable for a horse one day" was the best I could come up with.
"What about some chickens or ducks?"
"Avian flu."
"Rabbits?"
Memories of squealing and squirming pet rabbits with the mixies, being clubbed to death by with a neighbour with his spade still haunt me. "Well we'd get plenty pairs of moccasins."
"Well Patchy dog could do with some company in her old age you know!"
I just rolled my eyes heavenwards.

But the animal ball started rolling when the Godfather rang. "Hello titty bum. What does Sandy want for his birthday, a puppy?"
"Guy, we've already got a dog, get him a Shetland pony if you like" I said jokingly.
"You miserable sod, we'll get him something cuddly don't worry, we'll see you at the party" and he hung up.

Sandy already has some pets that he's quite fond of. They stand at selected spots on the farm. There's a fox, duck and a rabbit. They are made of plaster, but they seem to keep him more than happy upon their discovery with each new expedition. So Sandy was more than surprised when the 'real' Peter Rabbit turned up at his birthday party complete with home made hutch.

"I spent all ****** night making that thing," Guy spluttered, as he swallowed a bottle of Cruzcampo, "You'd think Leroy Merlin would sell the kit to you, they'd make a killing."
As he started on his second bottle (they are only small) some of the fathers of Sandy's schoolmates gathered round the hutch.
"Eso que es?" asked Juan the Ferret (Ironmonger to you).
"Eso no va dura ni dos minutos por la noche!"
The Godfather's face dropped halfway through his third.
"Guy, seems the smart money is on the fox or the Golden eagle preventing Peter from seing the sun rise at Finca Quebrilla from his smartly furnished bedsit."
"Bugger, I hadn't thought about that!"

The phone rang the next day. "How's Peter getting on?" asked an anxious Godfather.
"Peter's no longer here." I replied.
A choked sound from the other end, "How's Sandy taking it?"
"He loves the new puppy." I informed him.

Frasquito who keeps his horses on our land had been seen admiring Peter as he passed the hutch on the way to water his beasts.
"Es una hembra!" he informed Tracy, much to her surprise. He also offered to take the rabbit away and let it breed with some of his males, giving us half of the resulting litter. Childhood memories of blood spattered spades cut in when my wife related the offer to me.
"Swap it for a puppy?" I ventured.

Frasquito rode up on his moped next morning and took a sack from one of the wicker paniers.
"Toma, un perro de agua!" he proclaimed proudly.
Now these are very prized dogs in Spain, the equivalent status to a Border Collie, except they look nothing like them. A medium sized creature with tight curly hair, slightly crazy eyes and floppy ears, they are called Water Dogs as they are able to swim under water for prolonged stretches at a time, making them very useful at collecting game for the hunter.
"You know, you're getting a good deal here," Frasquito confided as he plopped 'Peter' into the empty pannier. I affected ignorance. "your wife saved one of my mares the other day, so I owed her a favour."
He then extracted a sack of potatoes from the other basket. It seemed Tracy's exploits were worth their weight in spuds.

"What did you do for Frasquito's horse?" I asked her.
"Oh, his silly mare went and got itself so tangled in its own stake rope that it ended up on the ground looking like a trussed mustang at a Rodeo. I had to get the bread knife and cut the ropes."
Not being at all a horse person, I just stared at her; you wouldn't catch me near one of the things.
"It had gashed its foreleg and was writhing quite a lot. I had to get the kids in the car and go around half the bars in the village till I found him."
"You do realise we've just doubled the headcount of our livestock, I hope you're satisfied?" Said I.

The potatoes came thick and fast.

I'm starting to think about trying to find time this autumn to further recce the Ports de Beceit area in eastern Spain. We had a fabulous walking holiday there this Spring. The group was made up by John and Frances Phillips from Edinburgh, John (old timer) Robottom of Solihull and Ian Booker (the dangerous dentist) from Rotherham. We were also accompanied by Jackie Chappell, a features journalsit from near Bath (you can see her article at www.frontierholidays.net/extra.htm ).

It was all new to me as my friend and local guide Luis Cebrian had promised for a long time to show me the "hidden gems" of his backyard. I've seen alot of the walking areas that Spain has to offer, but I never cease to be amazed by just how unique each area is to the rest.

Looking at a map it's difficult to get an idea of this compact and labyrynthine landscape. Not for nothing were the last of the Maquis still holed up here in the late 1950's.

Hmmm, well here goes.

This is the first entry for the Frontier Holiday's Blog. Blog, dog, fog. It seems that as the Spring season comes to an end, I'll be tied to the internet for much longer as this is our main link to customers and the outside world.

I hope that friends, clients and anyone interested in the Spanish countryside will add their thoughts, and queries so that we can eventually create a kind of forum where people with similar interests can get together 'online'.

For anyone who doesn't know me, a quick intro is maybe in order;
35 years under the belt, 18 years in Andalucia, 7 as a guide, 6 as a husband, 4 a father. The Christie family is Tracy, Sandy, Lucia and myself.
Can you spot a pattern, me neither?

Right now, Frontier is Autumn planning as we have several hiking, and bird watching holidays to set up.

This blog thing is probably as foreign to you as it is to me at the moment. "Perseverance is the father of all back strain."

Hasta Luego

PS An "era" is the Spanish for a Threshing Circle, and ours needs a clean up as it is still littered with firewood my brothers chopped up for us when they visited.

Callum Christie
Director Frontier Holidays