This Saturday, we saw a part of Andalucía that most tourists don’t get to see thanks to Paco, a colleague of my partner who offered to show us around his pueblo and campo. We left the coast of Almería and drove up into the mountains toward Granada through a dry, mountainous landscape dotted with olive, citrus, and flowering almond trees. It was reminiscent of many parts of New Mexico and the American Southwest, but I was continually reminded that I was in Spain because my ears and mouth were full of Spanish words.
After about two hours we reached Paco’s pueblo of Válor, one of many small white villages that rest on the hillsides (although one side of every building is tinted a reddish-brown from a dust storm from Africa a few years ago). Narrow roads, old buildings and walls, and many beautiful drinking fountains reveal the area's long history while the newer buildings and construction hint at the modern life that people take pride in. Paco shared that most of the young people of the village have moved away in search of education and jobs, but every summer they come back for a historical reenactment and party. The town is quiet, but it is certainly not lifeless. Life is just at a smaller scale without all of the excesses of modern life.
Our first stop, naturally, was for churros from a churro truck run by a jovial elderly man with a gap in his teeth. He brought us a spiral of churros and three cups of chocolate to dip them in. It was the most peaceful churro truck I’ve seen: hot oil clouds wafting from his frying basin, his precise use of his oversized chopsticks to turn the frying dough, and the next customer leaning on the counter with a cigarette and murmuring “no tengo prisa,” I am in no hurry. The cool, quiet air and the morning sunshine made me feel that everything was as it should be. And after the churros were gone and before it was even 10 am, the churro man poured us a shot of sweet anis and sent us on our way.
With that lingering licorice taste in my mouth, we visited Paco’s home—large and with an opened jamón leg just out and releasing its smell. We then went on a long walk through groves of flowering purple and white almond trees with seams made of acequias, paths, and other vegetation. We wound up through a natural park and at the crest of the hill, we were in another pueblo. We continued through pockets of lush land, past old bridges, ponds of water, and houses with dogs. Paco showed us a special mineral water fountain that tastes like carbonated water. With every step, I realized just how well-used the land is here; every hillside is terraced, the water is diverted, and I could literally see the work of human hands on this land for centuries. Much of the Western US feels almost untouched compared to Old World Spain, which has had quite a bit more time and people to adapt the land to suit their needs.
With pride, Paco told us the history of his family and pueblo. We finished our walk at his campo where we spent an hour watering his garden and tending to his chickens. He has many citrus, almond, and olive trees; plus, he’s planting trees now for his future self and I found that so beautiful. We finished our time in the area with a lunch, complete with beers, tapas, pork in adobo sauce and other Alpujarra plates. Thank you to Paco for a wonderful time!
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