Spain > Andalusia > The White Village of Cartajima

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CARTAJIMA, 18-19 May 2009

 

We have just landed Malaga from Brussels (thanks to RyanAir) – it’s a hot day, the roads are unfamiliar, the language is somewhat incomprehensible, and they drive on the wrong side of the road, but what the heck, we soon find ourselves roaming the mountains west of Malaga, in western Andalusia of southern Spain. We are joined by our son, who flew in from Toronto with his friend.

A beautiful fine day and spring is evident everywhere.
We have decided to spend the night in the village of Cartajima, one of the famed ‘pueblas blancos’ of the mountains of Andalusia … somewhere on the horizon.
Along a narrow road, we spot the village, nestled between hills of chestnut trees.
A short drive later, we are in the only village square, a cramped patch of space next to the church.
This is a typical Andalusian white village, a legacy of the Arab Moors who ruled Iberia between the 8th and 16th centuries.
A short walk from the car, and there it is, our home for the night.
The owner-manager, ‘Botz’, a genial Englishman from Plymouth, is full of tips and stories – he has been here for 5 years.
But first he invites us in for coffee …

… followed by an invitation to climb the ‘ladder’ to his terrace, atop the house. Spectacular views all around, and fresh breezy air too.

And there’s another white village a few kilometres away.

I said ‘ladder’ because that’s what we use to move from floor to floor. Definitely not for kids or old folks.

And our comfy bedroom, tucked in this 250-year-old building. Well at least 250, Botz says, but there’s a Roman marble at the front door which could easily be 2000 years old!

Apart from phones (both cell and wired), this is the main link to the rest of the world.

I check emails while a group of friends keep me company.

Host Botz used to be a chef and in no time he puts together a great-looking salmon dinner (except for Sabar, who’s no fan of salmons). Well, we emailed him in advance our dietary preference.

I’ve never had such a tasty salmon steak, washed down with great Iberian coffee, … or maybe I am just plain famished? But it’s a wonderful meal, compliments to Chef Botz, who also sits down with us to have his fish.

Dinner done, we hurriedly go out to see the setting sun.

In failing light, we do a quick village walkabout.

Nice setting, but some dwellings have been abandoned. A global problem this, kids moved to the cities to work, leaving the old folks behind. Soon nobody’s left any more. Cartajima now has less than 250 inhabitants, mainly senior citizens.

Rusty intricate balcony railing of a deserted house.

Green logo of ‘Junta de Andalucia’ – the local Andalucia Autonomous Community council’s office. The villagers’ only contact with the government.

Exploring the undulating, twisting cobblestone lanes is very interesting.

We finish off our quick tour of Cartajima at the church, built early 16th century, but still looking great.

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A new day and I climb up the ladder to the rooftop terrace to survey the domain.

It’s cool, and serenely peaceful. I think every creature is still in bed, except the birds.
Even Botz is still asleep as we gingerly let ourselves out of his house, whose only reminder the night before was to shut the door behind us, and not to worry about it being unlocked.

And yes, we just have to test the only phone booth in town … and it’s working perfectly.

Back to our car a hundred metres away, and fitting our bags into our trusty Ford Fiesta 1.4 Diesel is always a challenge. This puppy gives me 20km for every litre of diesel, which is fantastic!

The craggy mountains beckon.
In the distance, somebody builds his mansion in the middle of nowhere.

As we drive along the narrow twisting road back to civilisation, we spot another white village.
And beneath us in a valley, maggot-like sheep forage for food.

The road ahead, and our next stop is the white town of Ronda, the birthplace of bull-fighting.

> THE END

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