We went to Capileira right at the top of the mountain.
The range is marked by narrow and winding pathways and small flat-roofed, immaculately whitewashed Berber-style houses into which Alastair wanted to disappear.
They reminded me of a couple of tricky streets in the medieval parts of Prague, where even after 10 years of living there, I'd still lose my way.
The villages themselves seem to be thriving from bustling tourism which offers great hiking and lots of old crafts from leather and rugs to honey and the famed air-cured Serrano hams.
Another legacy of seven centuries of Arab settlement is the irrigation system in the Sierra Nevada, evident wherever you went. From the snow capped mountains the water flushes down through specially built channels that reach all over the range and leave it watered and fertile and hence the abundance of oranges and lemons and the like.
Rob said it's all very tightly controlled so that the water is shared fairly and every village (and even house) is designated water on specific days. On days Rob and Karolina got water a river would suddenly run through their the olive grove, rushing so fast you couldn't cross. Channels feeding each house would divert a bit it to them and their neighbours and, in Rob's case, would lead to their swimming pool, which would essentially get topped up every few days. Then they'd have to open the hatch on the other side of the pool to water the garden. Nice.
Back to the mountain and Rob was scouring the terrain for the most remote place to move to (he'd say it'd be for the landscapes, but I bet he's seen the future appeal of checking out the boyfriends who'd brave it up there to take his girls out).
A shot of a place in Portuges which cures the ham.
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