Frontier Holidays Blog

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."