Hippy holidays I: Their part in my downfall

We were stressed you see, and exhaustion had charted our bones too thoroughly, so we ran away to an eco-ideal, cos we didn't need much; only warmth and ease.

It wasn't warm and it wasn't easy.

Of the Hoopoee Yurt hotel, larians amply expresses our disatisfactions in his post on the subject. I must say that seldom does a holiday drive me to poetry, and apologise in advance for subjecting you to my 'Omage du Conrad

If Mistah Kurtz (he dead)
had meant Yurtz
when he said
'Kill them all,'
We'd have had a ball!

There you go. It takes a lot for a place to do this to me.

There were many small issues, but I will only focus on a couple.

( Bitching: the Hoopoee, rules, insects and poopoee. )

On the plus side, the food and the company was absolutely terrific. And the area's pretty enough, a Spanish wildflower meadow deep in the mountains of Andalucia, near Ronda and the White Towns. When the sun shines it is more than pretty; it is delicate and tough and very beautiful.

Even in rotten weather the Serrania is dramatic,a country for stone giants and ogres. Massive rocks jut out of the cliffsides above the roads while cacti flower on the verges; mares and foals roam the land, deep caverns supply neolithic graffiti(http://www.cuevadelapileta.org/textos_archivos/pileta_2.html) and in the fields every goat seeks goaty empire, a rock of its own from which to bleat at non rock possessors. Most goats are successful, for the land lacks no rocks.

Not that the driver will see much of this, because beyond each kerb lies the potential to pass eagles and vultures on your way down. The roads are challenging enough due to narrowness and ill-kept condition; add rain and wind, mountain ledges and mist creeping low towards you, and the resulting effect could drive you to the Yorkshire moors for balm and comfort.

We weren't dressed for it, but more, we weren't mentally prepared for anything so like hassle. By the time our clothes were drying out and the sierra smiled on us with blue skies and great goldgreen crags, larians was like a suitor exasperated by his moody mistress; disenchanted, he suggested Tangiers and I leapt upon his suggestion in smiling despair. Then the holiday changed. But more of this in my next post...

* Now gone up to £100.

Hippy Holidays II: My part in their downfall

Tangiers.

No Indiana Jones but the next best thing; El Minzah, a 1930s luxury hotel, with deep blue water above a deep blue sky next to a deep blue sea. Swallows came swooping down for a quick surf on the pool and then wheeled up again. The waiters wore fezzes and should have looked ridiculous, but nothing takes away a sense of the absurd like courteous service. It felt like a holiday. The inner courtyard, elegantly moorish in design was frequented by bats, and people in panamas; but when the humans moved in to the piano bar to pretend to be spies, the bats stayed and played. That evening saw bright yellow roses in the fountain; the next morning red ones had joined them. Maybe the bats left them there.

( A curious moment that evening )

( Tangier with a guide: Not getting lost )

( People )

( Tangier without a guide: Lost )

I could talk about Tangiers so much more. Suffice it to say that not only was it pleasant in and of itself, but that it also enhanced our return to the Hoopie. People and adventure, flowers and caves, the old city, the high sierra, light on the sea, clouds on the mountains...I like contrasts and yet, I must confess, this holiday has not been restful, even with the delectable rescue of El Minzah. I'm pretty tired, and must find the energy to do stuff.

Tomorrow will be time enough for that.