defying death on el camino del rey: andalucía part II

Before reading this (part II), here's part I.

DAYS 2&3 of my weekend in Andalucía:

The next morning, Katelyn´s landlord gave us a ride up the mountain to El Chorro, a town used by rock climbers as a jump-off point to several spectacular climbing areas. When we got up to our hostel, everyone asked us if we were there to do the Camino del Rey. We’d heard a little bit about it (Katelyn’s landlord told us stories about all the people who’d died on it) and we said no, we were just there to hike. Everyone insisted that it was THE THING to do—better than rock climbing—most euphoric experience of their lives—and we said we’d go on a hike first and come back to talk to a guide, to see if he could talk us into it.

We started off on a trail recommended by several people and climbed up a track that quickly lost itself in olive groves, where the ground was covered in wild rosemary and thyme. Passing by several ruins of old houses, we crossed over a ridge and descended into a valley full of pine trees.

Sunrise from behind Katelyn’s house, looking over the orange grove and the faroff mountains.

Hiking up the mountain from El Chorro

On the porch of another ruined house (nobody could explain why the village of El Chorro used to be higher on the mountain, and had been moved a few miles down during the past few decades) we ate an amazing lunch of extra-cured cheese that I’d bought at the Santanyí market, a sausage/salami that was specially made in Álora, and oranges picked from the grove behind Katelyn’s house. All that was missing was a bottle of wine!

When we got down to the village of El Chorro, we had a beer at the train station and met dreadlocks man (“I live in a cave; want to come see it?”) and trekked back up the mountain to the hostel. As soon as we got there, all the people at the hostel started asking if we’d made up our minds about going on the Camino del Rey. When the dam across the gorge was being built, a walkway along the walls of the gorge was built A) so the workers could transport their materials, or B) so the king could inspect their work (no one was quite sure). The path is about 1.5-2 feet wide and extends from the vertical cliff face, but after years of neglect, the camino has fallen into disrepair. Several chunks are missing, and to discourage people from messing around up there, the government blasted off the first section, trying to make it inaccessible. Not for long! People have drilled large metal rods into the cliff face, along with occasional hand-holds, and have bolted a guide rope onto the wall. With climbing gear, you can hop from bar to bar across the 50-foot-long section, 300 feet above the river. Piece of cake. Oh, and then you have to ascend the cliff on a series of hand-holds where you can’t rope in. Our guide assured us that it really wasn’t a big deal, and that he had gone up so often that he didn’t even go with ropes. We were convinced.

El Caminito del Rey está intransitable, y se advierte que pasar supone grave riesgo: The King's Path is impassable, and you are warned that crossing implies grave risk.

The next morning, Katelyn and I rose early determined to attack and conquer. The blown-away section at the beginning certainly discourages people: after I had hoped, knock-kneed, across the bars and was watching on a narrow ledge, Katelyn called across that she couldn’t do it, and that she and the guide were going to start form the other end. Uh…

A large group of elderly English people, headed by a terrified Austrian couple, started across the bars, but one of the English group had to turn back as well. The English people offered to take me along, and our guide took Katelyn and the elderly English fellow around to start at the other end, so we agreed to meet in the middle.

A few people in front of us starting across the bars.

Our guide, Martin: not roped in, and not taking any pictures of me doing this hair-raising and hare-brained crossing. I swear I did it.

At the top of the “staircase” leading up to the Camino del Rey.

Katelyn and our guide waiting on the other side of the bars while the large group of English waited for the Austrian lady to make her way across.

After a quick scramble up the cliff face, the real Camino del Rey started. A guide wire had been strung along the wall, so at all times we were roped on with slings and carabiners. Hundreds of feet above nothing, walking along crazy vertical strata o fancient upheavals, shuffling sideways over railroad ties where bits of the walkway had fallen through—absolutely once-in-a-lifetime. Except I want to go back!

The scenery

On the Camino!

Defying death (this photo is for you, Mom)

Making our way around some “hairy bits” as the British people called them (“I’m bricking!” one man told me. “You’re what?” I asked. “Well, in Britain we have a saying, ‘to be shitting bricks’, except ‘bricking’ is slightly more polite”.)

Although it doesn’t look like it, those plants are at least 50 feet below on another ledge, which is about 200 feet above the river.

Our guide, Katelyn, and the British fellow, Mike, as they rounded the bend in front of us! It turned out that it was Mike’s 69^th birthday. The whole group of English people had come 9 years before for his 60^th birthday, and they’d celebrated it on the Camino. They had hoped for a repeat celebration this year—they brought cake and champagne in their backpacks!—but two years ago (at a sprightly 67 years old) Mike fell over 200 feet while ice climbing, and it made him not relish exposed slopes as much as he used to.

It worked out perfectly for everyone that our guide took Katelyn around to start from the other side (which involves a river crossing instead of clinging to a cliff face) because Mike tagged along with them, and he was able to have his birthday party after all.

As always, photos are on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050228&id=65202311&l=d1dcd0cc4f