Andalusia – Day 6 – Canillas de Albaida to Acebuchal

This proves to be a memorable day and in more ways than one, the most spectacular on the trail so far as we cross the Sierra de Tejeda, Almijara y Alhama Natural Park, but also one that leaves Odile totally exhausted, swearing that she will never follow me blindly on a hike ever again!

As the hotel doesn’t do breakfast (we never even see a member of staff in the place), we decide to walk the first two or three kilometres to Competa and have breakfast there.

After a brief climb out of Canillas de Albaida, we find ourselves on a magnificent, balcony-like path that wends its way to Competa while providing magnificent views of the valley below. There’s still a fair bit of cloud around, but we can sense the sun breaking through and it looks as if the rain has passed on.

There are quite a few people on this trail, many of them walking dogs, but, unfortunately, picking up their pets’ turds doesn’t seem to be the done thing here, which is surprising given the spotless condition of every village we’ve passed through. It’s a beautiful section of trail, but its beauty is diminished by having to slalom between piles of dog mess.

We arrive in Competa just before school starts for the day and the streets are full of parents, taking their kids to school in a very joyful atmosphere. We immediately sense a very good vibe in this pretty village which is confirmed almost immediately when we find a bakery full of goodies for our picnic lunch. It turns out to be run by a French couple who opened the place a year ago. They tell us that we’re in for a very good day of hiking and that our destination for the night is particularly beautiful. We leave again with a stock of empanadas for lunch.

From there, we make our way through the narrow streets to the main square where we find a café for breakfast. Rather than the standard croissant or pan con tomate, we go for what the Spanish intriguingly call a bikini. This is a ham and cheese toasted sandwich and, as we eat ours with an excellent cafe con lèche, a thought strikes us: the bikini is composed of two triangular sandwiches. Surely that’s one triangle short of a full bikini? Have we been sold short? Or would it be wiser to call the dish a bra?

After such profound morning musings, we’re ready to set off again. We take a quick look at the church, which has a surprisingly modern fresco behind the altar, then cross the square to pick up our trail. The steep street that we follow from the square gives us a hint of what awaits us was over the next hour or so as we climb from Competa at 600 metres up to an altitude of 1160 metres before the long descent to Acebuchal.

The inhabitants of Competa must be a pretty fit lot as every street and lane in the village seems to be on steep slope. We head steadily and steeply uphill, then emerge from the village to follow a road up to the local football pitch that is perched high above the village with great views of the valley and of Competa.

We then follow a dirt road that continues to head steadily upwards. The previous evening’s rain has left the air full of mist and, as we head higher, things become very atmospheric with the trail barely visible at times and in almost bright sunshine at others. This will continue throughout the morning until we cross the final pass.

After a couple of kilometres, the trail veers off the dirt road to follow a hiking path up a valley to a first pass. The terrain is a little more irregular and a bit steeper but the trail is easy to follow. I don’t find it too difficult, but Odile is beginning to suffer, especially after the tough descent on the slippery road the previous day.

We take a well-earned break at the end of this long climb in a shady spot that has magnificent views back down over the trail and over the mountains ahead. We’re already a good 400 metres higher than Competa and our surroundings are magnificent : forest-clad hills as far as the eye can see, shifting patches of mist and sunlight, and absolute silence (we hear very few birds in Andalusia).

From this point on, everything is much easier. We need to ascend only 100 metres over the next 6 or 7 kilometres, so the trail is pretty level, albeit with occasional brief descents and climbs. We pass a friendly group of British pensioners on a hiking holiday and spot a couple of other people in the mist at the next pass, but otherwise we’re very much alone in the midst of this spectacular scenery.

Unfortunately, as we follow the trail, the thick mist obscures the views of the valley below. This high trail is like a balcony above the drop, but it’s more or less impossible to see anything below. That said, hiking in the mist is as enjoyably atmospheric as before as Odile recovers from the morning’s tough climb.

We stop to eat our delicious empanadas from the French bakery in Competa at a ruined farm, a huge place high up in the mountains that could not have been very easy to reach during its heyday as no dirt roads or forestry tracks come anywhere near the place. The views would no doubt be spectacular if only the mist would clear, but we’re not in for that treat today.

A couple of day-hikers pass by while we’re eating and Odile enviously eyes their small backpacks – we’ve been carrying at least 10 or 11 kilos each with our water for the day since the start of this trip.

Just as we get ready to set off again, it unexpectedly starts to rain so the pack covers and rain jackets go on. It’s not heavy rain, but it’s wiser to cover up.

On our way up to the final pass before the long descent, we pass another ruined building that was probably once a farm and a couple of mysterious, well-like constructions at the side of the path. They’re clearly not wells as there’s an opening in the side of them. In Alcaucin, we had read something about charcoal burners in the area, so perhaps these things were used for charcoal production, even though the interior isn’t very blackened. We cannot imagine what else they could be.

By the time we reach the pass, we’re sweating heavily in our rain jackets. But, as if by some miracle, the rain suddenly ceases, and the sky begins to clear.

Odile has already had enough by this point after the long climb, but the first part of the descent more or less finishes her off. I’m not particularly happy about it either. It’s a long and occasionally steep path that seems to be made up of nothing but stones that continually roll out from beneath our feet, very much like the nightmare descent that we had in Slovenia a few years ago. It’s very tricky descending on this path as we have to take it really slowly to avoid falling. Even so, I end up on my backside twice, but with only my pride wounded.

The scenery is spectacular, but we really don’t make the most of it on this section of trail as we are too focused on where we’re putting our feet. This goes on for quite a while, with Odile becoming increasingly disheartened by the endless stones.

After 3 or 4 km, we finally emerge onto a dirt road high above the valley below. Odile has withdrawn completely into herself and it’s wiser not to talk to her at such times, so we keep on following this dirt road that heads gently downhill and can be seen rounding the hillside far ahead.

At one point, we come across a rarity in this landscape, the first real stream we’ve see since leaving Periana. I seize the opportunity to soak my feet in the cool water, but Odile can’t even summon the strength to remove her hiking boots. I also fill my water bottle with the sweet, fresh water for the last few kilometres.

We set off again, taking another break further on where the trail leaves the dirt road to follow a broad track down to Acebuchal. Odile is on autopilot, putting one foot in front of the other and barely responding when I point different things out to her.

We finally reached at the bottom of the valley, and the last section of trail follows a dried-out riverbed to Acebuchal. It feels odd walking along this empty and very dry river which surely must be full of water at some point in the year as its banks are clearly defined.

And then, all of a sudden, we step out of the woods and the riverbed onto a road where a sign announces that we have reached Acebuchal. Hallelujah! Odile cheers up instantly and the last, brief ascent of about 10 metres to the village proper doesn’t take the edge off her joy.

Acebuchal is nestled deep in a valley, totally isolated, and consists of just a few houses, a restaurant that is closing for the day as we arrive at 5:30 PM, and the B&B run by a Flemish Belgian called Lucas where we will be spending the night.

We get a warm greeting from Lucas on arriving. He takes one look at Odile and says, “God, you’re exhausted,” then sends us off to our room for a quick shower before the dinner that he has cooked for us and is going to serve at the very un-Spanish hour of 6 PM,

In next to no time, we’re clean and sitting at a table with ice-cold Victoria beers from Malaga, tucking into the delicious tortilla starter, and then the Andalusian roast pork that Lucas has prepared for us. Over this meal, while joking with Lucas about our exhaustion, we discuss the options for the next day. If we follow the official trail, we have 23 kilometres to cover with around 500 metres in positive elevation before we reach Nerja. That will clearly be too much for Odile so I find an alternative on AllTrails that will entail walking the first 5 kilometres to Frigiliana, the final white village, and then following a 7-km trail along a valley down to the sea at Nerja. That gets her vote but we’ll see how things go tomorrow…