Another walk from the Guidebook. But this time I had a plan that would stop us going wrong. I would jot down the directions on a small piece of paper before we set-off. No need to refer to the book on our walk. What could possibly go wrong? Plenty!
On the trail.
It is advertised as a short but spectacular walk. Just under 2 hours, an extra 30 minutes if walking from the town of Cannilas de Albaida. Armed with my instructions we arrived at the walks start point, near the puente romano with no problems. Confidence boosted by not getting lost, we marched on along the river.
The walk reminded me a lot about home. The sounds of the stream. The lush green landscape of the valley. It was a really special place. A number of tended terraces with orange and lemon groves. It was tempting to have a pick but we didn't. It seemed the only danger we would face was slipping off the stepping stones whilst crossing the river.
Specatcular views.
The first hint of a problem was when we reached the ruined cortijo Rafaeta. I had forgotten to write "walk past" the ruin on my notes. Another couple were ahead of us heading north along the river. They looked a bit lost so luckily Monica got the book to check. Error spotted, so we left the river and headed west towards the stream.
Checking the fruits.
The trouble spot I had envisaged in my mind was approaching, The ruined cortijo de la Parrilla. The description in the book was "50 metres and 4 terraces below the cortijo bear left...". We found the path OK but it was at the end of it that trouble struck. We were supposed to find a "clear path" that climbed past the cortijo. The trouble was it looked like the cortijo was being lived in. A number of fences had been erected. It wasn't long before the sounds of dogs barking made matters worse.
Cortijo de la Parrilla
The idea was to climb past the cortijo and join a track above it. The only way passed the cortijo was to go passed the dogs. The sounds of their barking echoed off the cortijo, amplifying their menace until we were convinced that a pack of blood-hungry rottweilers were lying in wait, ready to tear us to pieces. Just to add to the fear factor we heard the sounds of gun shots close by. We scouted around to look for an alternative route. We could see the track on the opposite side of the valley. It didn't look too far away. We decided to go for it. No, not passed the dogs ("Are you crazy!" Monica replied to that particular plan), but to scramble down the valley and climb up to the path on the opposite side.
The escape route.
15 minutes later, scared half to death. Nearly falling to our deaths on several occasions. Covered in cuts from the thorny bushes we had scrambled over. We had made it to the track. We walked along the track past olive and chestnut trees. We even stopped to collect the fallen chestnuts to have later. Apparently they are delicious when cooked on a plancha, bbq style. The sense of normality that had returned was soon to disappear with more barking in the distance.
Cortijo de la Parrilla from the otherside.
Walking up the track the barking grew louder. "It's coming for us" shrieked Monica. "Don't be silly" I replied just as the dog revealed itself from behind the bend. Not a particularly big dog, but not small either. It was barking ferociously at us. We stopped dead in our tracks. Now, what followed is a bone of contention. How will it be remembered in years to come?
My version of events is that I was conscious of Monica's fear of dogs. I didn't want to rush her. So we stopped for a little rest. There was no question of going back the way we came (there were multiple dogs of unknown size that way). We were simply going to walk past the dog. If it attacked, I was going to defend us with my walking stick in true "Sparta" style. At no time was I scared of the dog.
Monica's version of events is this.
Monica : "What are we going to do? It's not going to let us go past?"
Dean: "I don't know but we can't go back."
Monica took this reply as meaning that I was scared to death and didn't have the backbone to suggest a more direct approach. Apparently, if I just said "Don't be stupid we are going past it now", she would have happily followed. Anyway,to continue:
Monica: "Its growling at us". At which point we both back away about 25 metres or so. "We will have to call for help".
Dean: "We can't call for help".
Monica (Shouting): "Is there anyone there" (3 times, each time louder) "There is a dog in our way".
Dean: "It might be best to speak Spanish dear". Dog starts to growl louder and buoyed by our backing off, grows in confidence and starts to approach us menacingly.
Monica (Top voice): "ALGUIEN POR ALLI! HAY UN PERRO!" At which the dog suddenly loses its cockiness and retreats.
Monica (Loud voice): "PERRO CALLÁTE" We advance as Monica continues to shout at the forlorn dog as it runs away.
Monica had found the answer to getting past wild dogs on our walks. Or at least she thought she had. It wasn't long until we came across "Villa Sierra" and another pack of dogs. A few volleys of "Calláte" and we scurried past the villa. Whilst behind the villa, and seemingly heading away from trouble, Monica had convinced herself that the other dog had warned this pack about our arrival and so were better prepared. Hence the "Calláte" didn't have such a devastating effect against them. This was put to the test as the biggest of the dogs decided that enough's enough and bounded down the hill towards us. I didn't want to stand around and argue the point so we made a scrambled escape down the hill.
We soon arrived at the safety of the main road and then a quick stroll down the path toward the roman bridge. The sight of a lone dog at the bottom of the hill was enough to convince Monica that she would come "tooled up" on the next walk, with a knife. "A dog comes near me and I'll slit its throat". Another tranquil walk over. I wonder what fun will be had on the next?
Made it without being savaged!
