Spanish Hike
It is said that, in any tour group of hitherto strangers, there’s always someone… a bit weird, “ill fitting”, obnoxious even. And it is said that if you can’t spot that person, then it’s most likely you.
On a fairly lengthy Spanish guided hill hike, the rules are different. One eyes up one’s companions for the potential walking laggard. Recently, in the mountain hills near Nerja and the hidden village of Acebuchal, there was our guide, whom I have known and walked with for a number of years, myself, a young couple, very fit in every sense, and three Irish couples of late middle age. They did not look particularly fit, in any sense. So I thought the laggard was unlikely to be me.
How wrong I was. Within minutes of setting off up a rising barranco (ravine), I was at the back, with one or two others. But they were just limbering up, whereas I was already approaching full stretch.
A short while later, I realised that indeed I was the one, the laggard passenger.
The pattern was set and would not change over the next 18Km and several hours. The guide and 7 walkers would be far ahead up the rocky barrancos. A friendly Irishman kept pace with me, an unspoken watchman. The others would stop; we’d catch up; and then almost immediately: repeat.
When we reached more or less level stony mountain roads, my guardian angel forged ahead. I was trudging alone, often out of sight, but knowing that there was but one road and direction, and that the others would be waiting ahead relaxing and chatting.
We passed wonderful scenery. (Could I convince myself that I had fallen behind to take photos? No.)
Before our lunch stop we had to climb steeply up an overgrown path (our guide had to use a machete in places). Once more, my guardian took up position, as I puffed and often paused with racing heart.
When we reached, way behind, the high ruins where we would picnic, I stopped still- and slowly toppled over.
The descent of the path was just as slow. I was very tired and worried about balance. My guardian came patiently behind.
At the bottom of the climb, gentle humiliation awaited. Our guide had reached a decision. The group, minus him and me, would return at pace, down the tricky barrancos, and would head to the bar in the village of Acebuchal. There they would await our guide and me, who would travel back mostly by a longer but less demanding mountain road.
I was, indeed, confirmed as “the one”. The guide and I walked and chatted together (there was still 6 or 7 Kms to go ). Then gradually the morning’s pattern reasserted itself. He’d walk on; stop; I’d catch up. Repeat.
Finally, coming down the last home stretch barranco, the guide pushed on to the village bar to collect the others. I met them all coming back to the van. I was was rightly deprived of the apres-walk drink.
The lesson? It had been some years since I had been on a hike of such length and trickiness, as opposed to non-technical shorter walks. Even if one has kept fairly fit in general terms, a hill hike of nearly 20Kmy with ascents requires building up to, at least if one is to do it on equal terms with the well prepared.
My fellow hikers were all very friendly and sympathetic. As well they might be: thanks to my tardiness they had pleasant extra time in the bar.
Nov 2026
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