The Fridge Door Walk

This is a new walk for most of us, so we rely for directions on the confident recollections of one old hand who takes on the walk leadership.

We start by following a residential road parallel to the campsite. A friendly greeting from some pot-bellied pigs on the way, so worth a photo.

The road takes us onto scrubland at the back of the campsite from where we follow a pipeline. Presently we pass some bee hives. Thinks: good for a photo, but at that very instant we are attacked by the bees, and they mean business. We run as we try to brush them off, but are all stung. I have two stings on one ear and one on the other. But we’re all ok, throbbing a bit, but it maybe gives us a “we survived this ordeal together” bonding, and a tale to repeat at every opportunity.

But that mysterious title, the “Fridge Door Walk?” Well this is the fridge door and it marks the start of the walk proper. It doesn’t matter that it may not be a fridge door as the name is already set in stone.

Ever wondered what happens to the rejected tomatoes from all these plastic greenhouses? Look no further than these heaps dumped right by the fridge door. This is your golden chance to start up the ketchup factory you've always dreamed of.

And our leader’s happy: he spots a path, and off we go through the esparto grass. Walkers dislike esparto as the ears embed themselves in clothing and socks and then poke into your skin, scratching as you move.

It is soon apparent that the route we need is higher up so we climb through the undergrowth to reach it. Not bad going now we’re on it: there’s a steep gorge hidden in the shadows on the left in the next photo.

The track was no doubt constructed to service these agricultural terraces, next photo, in a previous age. It’s all overgrown now and hard to imagine how they managed to produce a crop yield worth having from this rough, rocky hillside with limited rain. 

Having passed the terraces, it’s about here that fortune deserts our leader- and by implication the rest of us. The path disappears. We head for a distant dirt road through scrub, now not just esparto grass but woody shrubs and thorn bushes. Like this.

The next photo is dead ordinary: a dirt road, and one we all knew. But what a welcome sight. Easy home from here.

We’ve collected some deep scratches to go with the bee stings and picky esparto ears. There are some great walks in this area but this isn’t one of them. Even without the hazards, we all agreed it wouldn’t have delivered much of interest. Super talking point though!

The City of Murcia

Our campsite is in the region of Murcia, one of the 17 self-governing regions of Spain. Most regions have several provinces but Murcia has just one so the city of Murcia is both the provincial and regional capital.

This is our first visit to the city in the 12 years we have been coming to the area. It takes us about an hour on motorway roads that conveniently run close to the centre. We park in an underground car park and come out, by chance, right in front of the town hall. It’s always pot luck where you pop up from an underground car park. We find ourselves in a very pretty plaza.

Heading for Tourist Info and the invariable free map, we pass an elegant square with statue. Pigeon on statue’s head.

The Tourist Info assistant hands over the free map and scribbles thereon some tapas bars. As we turn to leave we observe that a Jehovah’s Witness has infiltrated the tourists and is dishing out his own publications to visitors who think they are getting information leaflets. But we have sussed him out and decline more politely than he deserves.

Exit Tourist Info into the Plaza Cardinal Beluga and look directly across to the magnificent cathedral façade and the campanile (bell tower).

But coffee and cake must come first, so we enter a cafe in the square. However, the café is either severely undermanned or severely inefficient; ordering three times and waiting hopefully each time, we eventually get a cake, but no coffee. After half an hour we pay for the cake and I ask, where was the coffee? Full of “Lo siento mucho señor” apologies, but no explanation. It’s odd that you can feel sorry for people and annoyed at the same time. In two minutes we’re in the cathedral.

Begun in 1385, the building was finished in 1467, but added to and amended since so is a mixture of styles like many great churches. The photo above shows a part of the original building and below later baroque architecture.

As in most cathedrals and churches, there are side chapels financed by patrons for the protection of their immortal souls. Generally, the more important the cathedral, the grander the chapels. The example next shows wonderfully intricate stone carving with an austere overall impression.

This one is fancy gold, marble and cherubs with the same guarantee of the sponsors’ souls’ passage to the afterlife.

A service is being held in the cathedral so out of consideration we aren’t too snap-happy and are now back in the square. A disastrous flood in 1733 weakened the original cathedral façade and the old bishop’s palace, so both were replaced in the following decades in the same baroque style. The palace is a handsome building located opposite our cake-only café.

The palace is built around an elegant courtyard. Many people had a hand in its design and building, including the Italian, Canestro, foreman of the Royal Palace building works in Madrid. The palace interior wasn’t open.

Heading up through the narrow streets towards the Plaza Santo Domingo, we noticed few tourists. There were locals aplenty, generally well dressed. And we were the only pedestrians in shorts. I just needed a knotted hanky to complete the “Brits in Benidorm” image.

In the plaza is the church of Santo Domingo, in front of which is a bronze monument in support of human rights. Many countries have their own particular human rights issues and for Spain it is still the aftermath of the Civil War and Franco’s subsequent dictatorship. Many thousands of Spaniards disappeared and are lying by roadsides in unmarked graves.

 On a lighter note, we pass the Teatro Romea, the principal theatre that offers a varied top-class programme. It’s eye-catching style dates from 1862 but has been remodelled a few times following fires.

The source of the 1733 floods mentioned earlier, and in other years, is the river Segura. Unlike many Spanish rivers it seems to keep going all year round, and supplies essential water for the orchards and market gardens along its banks. It really is this milky green colour like pea soup.

Across the river from the old town are some pleasant gardens in which the stars of the show are the huge rubber trees, with amazing above-ground root systems, that dwarf our UK indoor specimens.

 Back across the river we note a few quirky features like these metal-topped palm trees. Not sure that it quite comes off but full marks for trying.

Our impression of Murcia was of an interesting if unspectacular city. There are many fine views just strolling through the old town, as in the next photo.

Clearly it’s not possible to make a final judgement after a few hours casual visiting and we would certainly return. It has some history dating back to Roman times but the city itself was founded by the Emir of Cordoba in 825 AD during the period of the Moorish rule. It was reconquered back into Christian rule in 1266. 

The Hill at the Back

Behind the campsite is a hill called the Cabeza del Horno: the Furnace Head. It’s not particularly high at 285 metres, but delivers a fine view from the top.

The way up is to follow a steep ridge on the right in the photo above. There is a track of sorts with waymarked paint splashes or stone cairns. We seem to need more rest stops than last year!

Less than half way up there’s a view of the whole campsite. It’s a bit misty this morning and the plastic tomato greenhouses look like lakes.

Last scramble before the top, with views inland towards some higher hills.

At the summit there’s an all round panorama including the coast of Mazarron bay.

 Easy to miss is a small shrine tucked away in the rocks, and unusually for Spain there are no candles to light for a blessing. Too windy probably, but even without the candles, it’s some reassurance for adventurers.

There’s also a disused communications mast on the top. It’s too much of a challenge for our mountaineering friends. Up they go. Second pic shows them at the top complaining that the mast was wobbling. Not surprising if you notice how slack the support wires are.

The dirt road from the back of the hill was built to construct the mast and then maintain it. It’s a much easier descent than the way we came up, although it’s deeply rutted as neither mast nor road is used.

When we first started coming here 12 years ago a chap used to play an alpine horn from the top, and then a Frenchman used to hoist a flag on the mast at Easter. We perhaps ought to have lit a bonfire as befits the name “Furnace Head”.

La Azohia Village

La Azohia is the fishing village we see from the caravan window, tucked under the headland in the photo. It forms one of the points of Mazarron bay.

It makes a particularly good view in the golden evening light as in this zoom shot.

We walk to La Azohia on a nearly new, purpose-built path, supposedly paid for by Euro money, following the coast all the way. It’s about 4 miles and easy walking with scenic views as shown by the next few photos. 

We walk through the village towards the tower on the far side, past many restaurants and low-rise holiday apartments. Tourism is now the main activity although fishing in the bay of Mazarron has been recorded from Roman times and is still active today. It still looks fairly unspoiled.

The tower of Santa Elena gives us a fine viewpoint over the whole bay. Built in the 16^th century as a lookout point for pirates, it also acted as a refuge  should the brigands land and attack. A chain of such towers was built along the coast demonstrating the real threat of piracy at that time.

The tower entrance is about 5 metres above ground level, accessed by a spiral metal staircase. This would have been a wooden or rope ladder able to be pulled up inside in past times. It seems the refugees in the tower also meant to fight back, looking at the cannon on the upper floor. Might be more effective if they aimed it through one of the windows.

From the top of the tower they had a great unrestricted view all round, ideal for defence purposes. We also had a great unrestricted view of a fishing boat hauling in its nets.

Coming down from the tower, we stepped smartly to the harbour to see the bumper catch being unloaded. We were sadly disappointed: no heaps of silver fish,  just one medium sized sunfish swimming, alive, in an on-board tank. A specimen for research perhaps as there is an oceanographic institute a few miles away? We didn’t ponder too long as a tapas lunch was proposed and seconded- and we weren’t planning on dining on fresh fish anyway.

The White Cliffs

The white cliffs are the highest point in the immediate area at 2,070 feet (631 metres). The photo is taken from the rambla near the campsite.

We’re going to the top, but not from this direction! Approaching from the other side, the slope is walkable but steep and stoney. We park in a layby on the road to Cartagena near an iron cross that indicates the beginning of the ascent. To start with, there is no discernable path but we manage to slowly pick our way through the sparse vegetation while looking down on the road where we left the cars.

Other walkers before us helpfully leave stone cairns as a guide to a useable route. Our leader seems not to trust this cairn, so we’re off up the gully behind into uncharted territory. This is the true spirit of exploration so must be worth a few extra thornbush scratches.

The Columbus approach pays off. We come upon an abandonned iron ore mine. The whole mountain, indeed the whole area, is full of them, mainly open cast with galleries driven deep into the hillside to extract the ore. The rich red colour comes from the ore.

It’s a vertical cut, so careful not to fall over the edge. Slowly onwards and upwards to the top where a fine panorama awaits. Towards the sea, in the direction of the city of Cartagena, the peaks disappear into the mist.

Looking the other way down the sheer cliff face reveals the rambla from where the first photo of the sheer white cliff was taken.

 Climbers do use the vertical rock face although there are none performing today. There is even a refuge for those caught out by bad weather on the top. The solid stone hut looks capable of coping with any storm.

Because of the elevation, the temperature is a 6 degrees C colder here than on the campsite where we started, and the wind’s got quite an edge. Odd times in winter it’s below freezing up here with occasional snow. It looks really cosy inside the hut - even a small solar panel on the roof feeding a mobile phone charger so you can be on Facebook while waiting for the rescue helicopter.

From the refuge we head back down, and presently look for some shelter from the wind to eat our packed lunch. We find a suitable place inside a large mine entrance but need to be careful of several vertical shafts near our chosen seating area. These aren’t the really deep shafts that would need winding gear; more probably they used rickety ladders. However it’s the same result if we were to fall down one. It’s impossible to imagine the hard life of the miners. 

We emerge from the mine entrance, past the spoil heaps, and now follow a narrow, purpose-made path laid down when the mines were functioning. Certainly used by miners, and perhaps by mules transporting the ore to the road. There is no evidence of a cableway or dram system to move the ore.

The path eventually arrives at the road where we left the cars. Although in partial disrepair, the path gets us down more easily than the ascent. A chilly but informative walk: no pain, no gain, as they say.