El Geco Verde breeds peace in Andulasia

Yayyy. My first trip through an airport, onto a plane and out the other side for so long. How I’ve missed that anticipation of different cultures, sounds, smells, sights. So good to feel warm sunshine on the face, to see locals at tables watching or waiting as the world catches up again, to be immersed in other languages and habits and lifestyles. I am jumping in. The water is warm.

This trip is to southern Spain through Malaga meeting up with some of the family. It’s a drive up into the Sierra Nevada. North of Granada the route changes from peaceful motorway to empty local roads and then a lonely track into the dry, rocky landscape of the foothills. In the distance the high ridges are snow laden, providing a freezing frame to the farms and villages that await the heat of summer.

El Geco Verde sits on a hump of land overseeing a vast landscape of bountiful olive and almond trees. A peaceful place where the blanket of silence and bird song makes more noise than any rush hour traffic from life back home. The shouting hustle of life quickly disappears and old priorities re-establish themselves.

It is Easter Sunday. Having introduced the British custom of egg rolling to Andalusia it is out and about. Passing the dam, stopping to appreciate its curves edges, we follow its cooling gushing through the dusty landscape.

In Castril, the local town, the procession has finished. The locals settle to a long afternoon in the bars and restaurants. Groups of all ages settle around long tables pushed out through the narrow streets. Laughter, banter, anecdotes – conversations are shared on the table and across the street. The speedy ricochet of machine gun Spanish sounds loud above the movement of wandering couples and families and friends.

It’s so good to be out here again.

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