It was one of those walks – not meticulously planned but with a desire to spend some special time with a special person, don a rucksack and just GO! Admittedly, there was the general idea that we would head down to La Fajana, up to El Tablado then probably up towards Roque Faro and hopefully catch the bus back. Or maybe just down to the sea and back. Clearly a plan which would amply suffice.
The route from the finca down to La Fajana is a well marked one, once on the GR130. It would be difficult to go wrong. Which is precisely why I chose to try and find my way through the unmarked and unofficial section which is not maintained or cleared.
In mitigation, it does make a welcome shortcut and we have done it before several times. In fact, we have even cleared it ourselves. But now it was winter and seriously overgrown and, as we peered down a twenty metre drop wondering how we could join the official path, the cacti had the final word. What a pity – we wouldn't see the lovely cobbled track, laid by noble fellows donkey's years ago.
Ah well, my walking companion was patient enough to not complain when it came to retracing our steps. And the added bonus was that the usual path took us by the mirador which allowed us to see the dramatic sight of La Fajana 400 metres directly below us.
We carried on our walk almost down to the village where we hung a left, crossing the barranco and then headed up the other side towards El Tablado. Here we paused for a bite to eat, enjoying a sit down at the new mirador. From here we could enjoy the view of where we had just walked and the tip of the house.
With rucksacks now a little lighter, we set off to Rosa's bar for a coffee and chat. Rosa never fails to surprise me by the fact that she always remembers who I am and welcomes me as if I am her errant niece. These days, her back forces her to walk with a deep stoop although her sprightly sense of humour is perfectly in tact. How are you Rosa? I asked. 'Ever lower,' she replied with a wry grin.
Waving our good-byes and wishing her good health, we set off up the road and out of the village.
Walking on the road is not always great fun and we were pleased to dive into the bushes where a signpost promised us that this was the way 'Roque del Faro.'
Trudging upwards, we passed goats munching the greenery at the side of the track and houses which had strayed from the village. A couple of times we crossed the road which was taking a more circuitous route than the steep track.
After a goodly time, houses, goats and roads all deserted us and we were alone in the greenness. Occasionally, as energy threatened to flag, we were allowed a peek at the view from where the bushes parted. It was nothing short of awe-inspiring to realise how far we had come and to be in a place which, from the finca, had only ever looked like impenetrable green-covered rock. We even enjoyed some flat sections – always a cause for excitement! (And to sing and dance along in a very stupid manner).
But the best moments, from where the photo was taken, where when we were in our secret world of green. From here, there were no tell-tale signs that the island was even inhabited: we were alone and time was something that did not belong here.
