“Solo in Seville” – Part Three

16 minute read

Previously in Part Two of “Solo in Seville” – Giant wooden mushrooms, first day wobbles, getting shafted by security but not as badly shafted as somebody else, cue a reflective moment, a glamorous lady on a plane, and a snake on the plane (without Samuel L Jackson), hisses and shushes, goodbye Yellow Brick Road and hello Emerald City, thriving alone, yet not wanting to be alone, crashing a movie set, not being able to operate a very simple safe mechanism, feeling good, then not feeling good, and going to bed and hoping for a better day ahead

Day Two – Tuesday

The Caminito Del Ray is otherwise known as the Walk of Death.

Sounds cheery doesn’t it.

It is widely considered to be the world’s most dangerous walk, although the reality is that its perhaps hanging on to past glory with this claim, with the aspect of danger having been all but removed in recent years.

The Caminito Del Ray is a walkway that runs along the steep walls of a gorge in El Chorro, near Ardeles, situated within the province of Malaga. Its name, which translates as the King’s Pathway, was first constructed in the early 20^th century and was used as an access path for workers at the hydroelectric power plants that were constructed at either end of the gorge.

The original pathway, which consisted of concrete slabs that rested on steel rails, were only two feet in width, and at some points were even narrower. The rails were supported by stanchions and built into the rock face, and it rises to more than 100m above the river that runs below it.

Once its original application was no longer needed, the pathway fell into disrepair and was left to deteriorate; resulting in a number of collapsed sections, and with few of the original handrails remaining.

The pathway became treacherous, yet at some point it became a tourist attraction, enticing thrill-seekers and adrenaline junkies to attempt traversing the 2.9km route. With practically no safety precautions in place other than a single safety wire that ran the length of the trail, it was very much a case of, one wrong move and you’re dead.

The Caminito Del Ray quickly earned its reputation as the Walk of Death, with several people having lost their lives while attempting to climb the gorge, resulting in its closure to the public for a number of years.

These days, however, the Caminito Del Ray has re-opened and has very much become a safe destination, and though the remains of the original pathway are still in situ, the entire route has been replaced by a solid wooden pathway that sits directly above it.

Though a feeling of danger is now almost non-existent at the Caminito Del Ray, it still promises a unique experience, and it was my top reason for visiting Seville.

I woke up early on the Tuesday morning, still feeling a little fragile.

I’d had a couple of dreams during the night, one of which related to my experience outside the restaurant the previous evening, but another of which included an adventure that took place alongside Sylvester Stallone ⁽¹⁾.

The latter saw the two of us navigating a hostile countryside under the cover of darkness, and our target was to reach a haunted house at the end of it. Having avoided our enemies along the way, the dream ended as we both began to rappel down a rope into a seemingly bottomless basement.

I have no idea what the fuck that was all about.

Dreams aside, my mood still hadn’t lifted by the time I boarded the coach, but I at least had a little luck on my side.

Although the 32-person trip had sold out, a couple of people had failed to turn up, and thankfully this meant that I could have a double seat all to myself. I wasn’t feeling in the least bit sociable, and the last thing I felt like doing was making conversation with a complete stranger.

Instead, I was happy to spread out across my seat and to watch the countryside unfold, but for the first hour of the journey the landscape didn’t have much to offer; it was just brown, arid, and flat.

Further into the trip though, things got far more interesting as the flatness gave way to winding hillsides that were covered in olive trees. Planted in perfect lines, the olive trees created a stunning symmetrical pattern of green against brown, and goats ambled down the hillsides between them.

Seeing this many olive trees made it unsurprising when I learnt that Spain is the world’s largest producer of olive oil, and I also learnt that the colour of green and black olives is simply a sign of age and maturity, starting off green, and later turning black. I’d quite naively thought that they were distinctly different.

But as interesting as the facts about olives were, the moment was tarnished by an announcement over the PA system, warning us about risky weather conditions at the Caminito Del Ray.

The tour organiser explained that at the Strait of Gibraltar, where the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea meet, the two very different waters cause a rotation that can result in high winds. These winds often find their way to Ardeles, and ultimately to the Caminito Del Ray; but because the gorge is so tight, it creates the perfect environment for concentrated wind.

A bit like if you’ve ever stayed in a 12 bed all-male dorm room.

If the warning about high winds wasn’t bad enough, I’d noticed that the sky had also become hazy, which had been caused by the winds lifting sand from the Sahara and holding it in the air. Rain would normally clear this, but there was no rain forecast.

What this ultimately meant was that reduced visibility could mean poor photo opportunities, and the high winds could mean that the final part of the trail – the best part – could be closed.

It made for a very nervy and uncertain start to the day, and I couldn’t help but think about my trip to Iceland to see the northern lights, which had resulted in all four evenings being cancelled due to poor visibility.

On that trip, the main attraction had alluded me, and it seemed that it could very well be doing the same thing today.

As we entered the province of Malaga, the scenery began to make up for the initial blandness during that first hour.

The mountainous region – the Sierra de Malaga – was truly stunning, and I could see birds of prey circling in the sky, who were apparently looking out for rabbits.

And this brings me onto yet another piece of trivia, which is that rabbits are a significant part of Spain. So significant in fact, that the Venetians first applied the word Espania to the country, because it roughly translates as Land of the Rabbits. ⁽²⁾

Despite the initial concerns of low visibility and high winds, somebody must have been smiling upon us, because as we completed our final descent of the mountains, the skies had cleared and the winds had eased.

After exiting the coach and having a much-needed toilet-break, the rest of the group stood around in little clusters; while others milled around, perhaps looking for somebody to pair up with.

I perched myself against a tree in the shade, and this was when I first noticed a younger woman standing around, by herself, not far from where I was stood. We briefly made eye contact, but I quickly looked away, still feeling a little anti-social.

The tour guide rounded everybody up, and then we followed them along a footpath before disappearing into a long dark tunnel that cut into the mountainside. This added an early sense of adventure to the day, and as the tunnel gave way to daylight as we reached the other side, the awaiting scenery made my jaw drop.

If the busyness of Seville had come to feel in any way overwhelming, then the Caminito Del Ray would surely be the tonic; providing trees, rivers, mountains, and clear blue skies. I was in nature, and I felt that I could breathe.

And that’s when I noticed the young woman again, walking just a few feet away from me, despite there being almost thirty other people around us.

I could see her glancing over at me, out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t want to look in her direction. I didn’t want to make eye contact again.

Instead, I slowed my pace and allowed myself to drop further back into the group, forcing a distance to be created between us.

I started to feel bad, because this wasn’t like me at all. On previous trips I’d have made every effort to speak to new people, and I’d have jumped at the chance to pair up with another solo traveller. Because that’s what it’s all about. You meet people, share experiences, and then hopefully curate a friendship that can last for years to come. New contacts, new friends, in new countries.

But not today. Not this trip. I just couldn’t.

As the group formed once again at the official starting point of the trail, I could no longer see the young woman, and for a moment I felt a little sad. And the feeling gnawed at me. It was like she’d become a part of my day, yet I didn’t want her to be. I felt a sense of curiosity about her, yet I also didn’t want to know anything about her.

And that’s when I heard a lady speaking behind me, politely thanking somebody. Her accent appeared to be Dutch, and as I turned around, I found myself face-to-face with the young woman, whose features were delicate and whose face was kind. She’d been stood right behind me the whole time.

Were we about to speak? Would I have to pair up with her? Did I want to? Or did I want to get the hell away?

Instinctively, I smiled at her, and she smiled right back. And then her mouth opened, and it was clear that she was about to speak. But that’s when I broke the eye contact and, dropping my head, I quietly said “excuse me”, and then I walked right past her, taking myself away from the group.

And that’s when it hit me, realising that the impact of the woman outside the restaurant last night was still affecting me. Or rather, my break-up was still feeling too raw.

I thought that I’d been doing okay, but the feeling of another woman clearly wanting to socialise with me was too much to handle. It was as though I somehow felt that I was being unfaithful to the memory of an ex-girlfriend.

Even though this young woman would likely have only had innocent intentions of a new friend to share the day with, it was all just too much.

And that’s when another wave of emotions rolled over me. Emotions that I didn’t really want to admit to. Because the simple fact is that this trip to Seville and the Caminito Del Ray, was supposed to be about moving on. It was supposed to signify the start of a new chapter.

But the truth is, I didn’t want a new chapter. I still wanted the last one. I wanted to flick back the pages to several months before. And instead of seeing the Caminito Del Ray as a figurative and literal walk towards a fresh start, I could only think about how much I wanted to be sharing it with my ex-girlfriend. I wanted her to be seeing this too. I wanted it to be our adventure.

The feeling was overwhelming, and it saddened me that the day was turning into this. I’d travelled all this way, and I had an epic experience ahead of me and a day of beautiful weather. And I’d also had the opportunity for a new friend.

Yet I felt stuck.

Standing alone, I looked up and over to the rest of the group. As the twenty-eight other tourists began to walk and follow the tour guide, the twenty-ninth, the younger woman, stood still for a moment, and then she turned around and looked over towards me.

I held her gaze, but only for a second, and then I looked towards the floor.

Finally, looking back up, I caught sight of her dropping her head, and then she turned around and walked after the rest of the group.

She never came near me again for the rest of the day.

Despite the unsettling start to the day, I began to feel a sense of comfort with being alone on the trail.

Maybe things hadn’t turned out exactly the way that I’d hoped that they would, but I accepted that I just needed to embrace the day for whatever it was meant to be. And from that moment onwards, I was able to go easy on myself and to accept what was.

And if ever there were a place that provided a welcoming distraction in the form of an adventure that’s blended with beauty, then the Caminito Del Ray is exactly that.

Check out my short video below to give you a glimpse of the beauty that accompanies the Caminito Del Ray

I was in awe as I strolled along the wooden pathways, listening to the river roaring below me, while running my hand along the surface of the rockface. The pathway rose and fell, and there were a small number of tunnels to be found along the route.

The turning of each and every corner unveiled another ‘postcard’ moment, with picture-perfect scenery; and I’d regularly find myself shaking my head in disbelief, and mouthing the words “no way”, over and over.

Although I was part of an organised tour, the approach was laid-back and the group disbanded from one another, with the only formal rule being that we needed to gather at the end point by a set time.

This meant that to all intents and purposes, I was very much alone.

This suited me perfectly, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t take some comfort in seeing a familiar face every now and then. I felt as though I didn’t want anybody near me, yet I still wanted to feel as though people were there.

After completing the first section of the route, the Caminito Del Ray opened up into a beautiful woodland, and I got to walk amongst the trees for a while, observing wildlife that scuttered around, the sound of birdsong, and the river that continued to roar in the distance.

This was an unexpected treasure, taking what was already a beautiful adventure, and then topping it off with my favourite environment of them all.

When people used to ask the question as to whether you’re a “beach, city, or country” person, my answer was always the latter.

Lakes, mountains, trees, and wildlife; they’re everything that I dream of, with my own vision of heaven being a cosy log cabin with an open fire, nestled amongst trees on the banks of a small lake, under a starry night sky.

I sat down on the ground and settled against a tree, and then I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. My fingers ran through the earth, which was dry and warm to the touch; and then, picking some up in my hand, I opened my fingers and allowed the dirt to run back through them.

I breathed deeply and, feeling more relaxed, I told myself that I was going to be okay; because in this moment, I absolutely believed that I would be.

The second part of the trail is where the adventure really began, and I was able to see much more of the original pathway, still suspended from the rock face below.

It blew my mind to imagine what it must have been like when it first opened. All those powerplant workers carrying materials from point A to point B, moving along the two-foot-wide pathway, more than 100m from the ground, and with no safety gear to protect them.

It reminded me of that famous photo from New York City; the one where a group of construction workers were sat eating their lunch on a steel beam, high above the city streets.

Though I couldn’t have imagined walking the original route without safety gear, I would, however, have liked to have visited it prior to what it had now become.

Because it appears that there was a period of time in which the route could have been completed as via ferrata, which would very much have appealed.

What this would effectively have meant is that the original path could have been walked – collapsed sections and all – but there would have been a cable attached to the rockfaces, which you could clip yourself onto.

This way, you’d still have been able to cross all the collapsed sections, either by traversing the walls, or shimmying along the steel beams. But, worst case, if you should’ve slipped and fell then theoretically you would’ve been saved by the wire that you’d clipped yourself onto.

A bit like an extreme version of Go Ape!

That would’ve been one hell of an experience, especially with the winds that were blowing through the gorge. Because as I completed the final section of the route, where the trail became completely exposed to the elements, the wind became so extreme that it began to lift my hard hat away from my head. If it hadn’t had been for the chin-strap being securely fastened, it would’ve taken the helmet away from me altogether.

Not only that, but I also felt my feet losing contact with the wooden beams beneath me, the wind clearly being so strong that it threatened to lift me up from the pathway itself.

It now became clear what had made the Caminito Del Ray such a deadly experience in the past. For it wasn’t simply that the risk of death had been down to human error, but rather that it also came down to nature herself.

It would have been possible to have manoeuvred every 2.9km of the route perfectly, and in the last minute a severe gust of wind could’ve lifted you clean off the platform and sent you plummeting to your death, more than 100 metres below.

This thought was absolutely terrifying; the realisation that, no matter what, nature is always in control. And the understanding that nature can be cruel, just as much as it can be beautiful; and that it must always be respected.

Although I’d felt better in myself for the duration of the walk, my mood suddenly plummeted towards the end of the afternoon.

As the trail came to an end and I found my way out of the gorge and down to the meeting point, it appeared that the rest of the group were in high spirits. People were laughing together, and new friendships had been formed; including the young Dutch woman, who was now with another small group of people.

It appeared that the only person that was by themselves, was me.

I accepted that this was completely self-inflicted and that I could’ve made new friends if I’d have chosen to, but having purposely kept myself from such opportunities only served to make me feel worse.

By the time the coach got back to Seville, I was glad to leave everybody behind me. Yet walking around the city didn’t help me either, and I suddenly felt as though my resilience had hit an all-time low.

I felt intimidated by the crowds, and the thought of navigating a non-English speaking restaurant was too much for me. It had been a long day, and it had been really hot; my supplies having run out hours ago. I needed to eat, and I was in desperate need of a drink.

But I didn’t know what to do. The streets felt like they were narrowing, everything began to feel heavy, and I was struggling to breathe.

I recognised that this was the onset of a panic attack, and I knew that I had to get out of the city and back to my apartment as quickly as possible.

Slamming the apartment door behind me, I walked into the kitchen and gripped onto the edges of the worktop, and then I hung my head as I started to take long deep breaths.

The apartment was quiet and I could hear only the feint noise of people talking outside in the courtyard.

In through the nose, out through the mouth; over and over. Breathe.

What five things can I see?

What four things can I hear?

What three things…what two things…what one thing.

All the usual techniques to bring my thoughts back into the moment, to calm myself down, and to get my breathing under control.

It had been a long time since I’d experienced something like this – literally years – and by the time the attack subsided, it had left me feeling shaky.

Opening the fridge, I grabbed what few bits of food I had left, and I picked up a couple of beers and left the apartment.

Following the staircase, I found myself walking out onto the roof terrace, and then I climbed higher still until I was up on the roof itself. I was now at the highest point of the apartment building, and as far away from people as I could get.

I sat down and began to take in the views over Seville, and I could make out Las Setas and all the people that were stood out on the observation deck. From this height and distance, people felt less threatening. I felt in control again.

But what the fuck was this all about? Why was I feeling this way? Had everything just gotten too much for me?

With being here in Seville and having just completed the Caminito Del Ray, the irony didn’t escape me; that I’d managed to hit my lowest point on the very day that was meant to be a high.

I’d had a vision of writing about this day as being the day where everything was all that I’d hoped it would be; that it was one of those perfect days. New experience. New friends. New start.

But I couldn’t say that, and all I can ever do is tell the truth. And the truth was that I’d felt more alone on this day than I had in a very long time. And despite my reluctance to be near anybody else, the reality was that I needed somebody more than ever. I needed a friend.

I’m lucky enough to have some wonderful friends that are great for different reasons, and I know who I can turn to depending upon what the circumstances are. And under circumstances such as these, I knew exactly who to message.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I text my good friend and work colleague, Maddy, who has been there for me on a number of occasions when I’ve been struggling.

I didn’t know how soon she’d reply, and so I opened a beer and looked out into the courtyard below. The sun had all but set, and I could make out the candles burning on the tables of the restaurant, where couples and families ate and drank wine.

The church bells began to chime, and a few moments later, my phone decided to join them. I looked down at the screen and saw that Maddy had replied, and she asked me how the trip was going.

As always, I was completely honest with her, and then a steady conversation began which saw me through two beers and another round of church bells chiming.

I’d mentioned earlier in this article that the older I get, the more I realise that I need people around me. Good people. People that I care about, and people that care about me.

To give and to take.

To have each other’s backs.

That night, my friend told me everything that I needed to hear. And by the time I went to bed, I knew that tomorrow would be a better day.

Click here to read Part Four of “Solo in Seville”

FOOTNOTES

⁽¹⁾ I love how I say that as though it’s just completely normal. Like he’s my best bud or something. You know, like, me and my mate Sly. I’ve known him for years. We go way back, you know.

⁽²⁾ According to some sources this is based upon a misconception, with rabbits having originally been confused for another species of animal. I have no idea what the real truth of it is, and to be honest I couldn’t really be arsed to spend a long time verifying it.

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