Day 17 Granada to Órgiva (+ Day 18)

Started from the hostel around 9:30 on Friday morning, kind of sad to miss all the certainly great events announced for the weekend in Malaga, but very much looking forward to proper hiking again.

On the way to the highway out of city I passed two ferreterías but neither of them had the right gas canister for me. Arrived at a roundabout that has exits to all the important directions and which sucked for hitchhiking because there was no space to stop. Still tried it at the exit I needed for about 20 minutes because I didn't want to speak Spanish to the people fueling up at the gas station nearby, but then I gave up and went to the gas station anyway. After a few minutes and some unsuccessful conversations I walked up to two foreigners, one of which was smiling at me broadly: "You're from the hostel, right?!". Luckily he recognized me (I didn't, I became so bad at remembering faces), and although his friend, who was also the driver, was really hesitant at first for no legit reason, he eventually convinced him to give me a lift. They only knew that they wanted to go to the Sierra Nevada and didn't have a specific destination, which came in handy for me, because I could just tell them where to drop me off. I chose a junction that led up to Acequias, which was part of the GR7 - perfect!

Weather was perfect too, sunny but with a bit of wind, and as I climbed the 1km

of tarmac up to the village I was really happy to be hiking again. Soon I found the first marking of the day.

A few altitude meters later I had to undress and get out of the pink leggings I had bought in Granada and which I had been wearing under my hiking trousers because it was just too hot already. Soon after I also got rid of my jacket and enjoyed the beautiful path winding up the mountain above Niguëlas and Acequias.

After some demanding but enjoyable steep climbing I hit a dirt road that took me through beautiful almond and olive grows with views that went as far as the sea behind the city of Motril.

I had passed several kind-of-fountains on the way, and as Lanjarón, which is the town from where most of Andalusia's drinking water comes from, lay below me, I just drank it without much thinking. Then I passed the only fountain mentioned in the guidebook, of which I thought it would obviously have drinkable water coming out of it, because why would they mention it if it wasn't, but the sign says "not drinkable". Pretty shitty if one would rely on the mentioning on the guidebook I guess.

I passed a closed albergue with a picknick area in front of it and decided to take yet another break there. I had tucs, cheese and almond chocolate and combined it to this awesome sandwich.

I also met my second long distance hikers on this section: three German guys with huge backpacks walking in the other direction. For some reason they could tell that I'm German from afar, I guess I should feel worried about that. They had come all the way from Motril but were apparently just going as they went and not following any particular official route. After agreeing that only Germans are stupid enough to do such things I continued downhill towards Lanjarón. 

The last part was nasty steep downhill walking on tarmac, but my day hadn't been to long so I survived it. I walked through Lanjarón, which was overflowing with fountains on every corner, kind of planless, because it was only around 4pm or so and I didn't really want to stop already, knowing that accommodation would be expensive, but continuing was not an option either, because there was no accommodation in the next village at all. 

Had my obligatory cafe con leche in a cute cafe, which seemed to be the only place in the whole town that wasn't closed for siesta time. Without hope I sent a Couchsurfing request with my Spanish number to the one person in the are who had been logged in recently, then walked around the town a bit more that soon came back to life again. I especially loved the old men sitting in the sun just next to the street, watching cars and people passing by. 

I rang the bell of a cheap-looking Pensión, but no one opened. Instead an old man came by and told me that it was closed, like most of the hotels in town. When asked for an affordable place he was clueless and recommended me to go to Órgiva instead. Which is what I decided to do, still wishing to maybe meet Qasem from the rooftop in Granada again by accident.

On the way down to the street leading out of the village I got a call from Ruud, the guy I had sent a request to an hour early. He said he had just come back from a day trip and I was welcome to stay at his place. 

I got a lift to Órgiva really quickly, by a young woman who was visiting her friend in Pirtes all the way from Murcia. Ruud had explained how to get to his place, but I had only listened with one ear, so I went into a completely wrong direction first and had to go all the way back when I finally realized it. Still I arrived there just when the sun was setting and we had readymade tortilla, which I had brought from the supermarket in Lanjarón, and salad (luxury!) for dinner. 

Ruud lives in an old house that he renovated some years ago, and has a big garden where he grows various kinds of vegetables. Mostly people come to his place thorough a website called helpex and work in the garden or around the house, one of which is Siv from Norway. Two others were currently on Granada, so I got a room all for myself.

Day 19

Glad that I found a place to relax for a bit I decided to take the next day off to sort out my itinerary once again. The next morning after breakfast (including fresh orange juice and almond milk) I went into town to have my cafe con leche, buy some food, and watch the people. 

From Ruud I learned that all the hippies and other alternative people live in a squat called "Beneficio" (you am google it), which is located just another kilometer uphill from where we are now. Some of them came down into Órgiva to buy some groceries or have a coffee while smoking their joints. Other than that Órgiva wasn't very interesting but I hung out until afternoon, reading bits and pieces from "South of Granada", which I found in Ruud's impressive bookshelf. It's written by an Englisman who lived in a small village called Yegen, which I will pass on my trail soon, for a few years in the 1920s. 

For the first time ever I got a cookie with my cafe con leche, which surprised me so much that I had to take a picture of it.

Back at "Las Semillas", which means "seeds" in Spanish, I cooked surprisingly tasty noodles with a cauliflower-and-egg-sauce. There was Greek joghurt and chocolate for the dessert - do I need I say more?