Murcia – A Rub ‘n’ a Jug (Hot Rock jan '06)

Our man Dave had chanced upon incredibly cheap flights to Murcia in southern Spain in late January, probably whilst researching his other two great passions…useless football trivia and dim sum starters in chinese restaurants…..don’t ask!…he just does stuff like that!

OK…we knew it could be a bit risky weatherwise even in southern Spain in late January, but at only £29 for return flights and only £10 a night B&B in a three star hotel we thought it was worth taking a punt.

Originally there were 6 of us on the trip, myself and Colin G, DimSum Dave and occasional hotrocker Colin S along with Riceboy and hotrock virgin Gavin (and what a first climbing trip to Spain this was to be!).

But, here’s the rub, the day before leaving there were the typically Rannoch ‘frenzied’ phone calls and emails with the obligatory last minute alterations, amendments and organisational anomalies as Dave was having to pull out with a dose of Spanish Flu….either that or he and Colin S had some inside information on the Costa Blanca weather forecast for the upcoming weekend. Not that I’m suggesting any impropriety of course….as Dave’s rendition on the phone as a coughing, spluttering, wheezy emphysemic victim of bronchial chest infection was totally convincing.

So the hardy Four Caballeros convened in the Prestwick Airport bar and had a pre-Murcian cervesa or three. Gav was amused to hear my opening gambit at the bar…

“Can you be one of the named drivers for the trip?”

…indeed he had just won a wee bet with his sister that this would be the first thing he would be asked as everyone else was having a beer. Spot on mate, you can read me like a book! Then most discussions revolved round the question “Does anyone know where the hotel is?”…and indeed it was yours truly to the rescue with pre-googled information and downloaded maps on the precise location of the Hotel Campanile…basically it was ‘somewhere in Murcia’, which is about as big as Glasgow. Sorted.

The Ryanair flight was pretty much incident free, apart from the fact that unusually they ran out of beer and sandwiches and even more unusually our pilot was called Captain Ryan and at least one of the stewardesses was also called Ryan. Very talented family…the Ryans.

Unbelievably, we managed to find the hotel without much problemo. All down to top research, an impeccable sense of direction and ability to read the giant road signs on the motorway telling us the name of the street we were looking for, and we were even in time to have a meal in the hotel restaurant. We also may have had a couple of small glasses of the local cervesa. The locals, we were told, prefer to have their cervesa in a receptacle called a ‘jara’ which is like a big jug, and who were we to argue. One has to try and make an effort to embrace the traditions and customs of a foreign country after all. At 0200h Gav and I staggered up the stairs and bounced along the corridor to our twin room to crash–out.

Now, one of the benefits of this hotel malarkey is that you get an all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast, and we certainly took advantage of it. Endless coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, cereals, croissants, toast, jam & marmalade, cold meat and cheese selection, fresh fruit salad, bacon & eggs & sausage (although it has to be said, and here’s the rub, the Spanish just cannot do bacon & eggs properly but needs must). Jeezoman we were even able to make up sandwiches for lunch and smuggle them out in napkins….and all this for a tenner a night. GUFFAW!

So…..to the crag……well sort of. No-one had failed to notice that it had been raining torrentially all night and was still raining persistently now and the temperature was Baltic to say the least. We did try looking at the crag, at Orihuela about 20Km from Murcia, but it was hopeless. Totally wet, freezing and unclimbable. In fact our driver (no names, no pack drill) was looking at the crag so intently that he just might have imperceptibly made contact with the bumper of a parked car at a tight bend in the village which had very narrow streets. It was with a fine display of good euro-citizenship and admirable morality that we assiduously checked the other car for damage as he got the guttie to the metal and did a screeching wheelspin out of the village and straight down to the car repair section in the Murcia hypermercado. Just a scratch as they say….and there’s the rub…it comes in a bottle…..and only 6 euros.

Having done that, someone then came up with the idea of going to an indoor climbing wall. There was bound to be one in a city the size of Murcia…wasn’t there? We got directions to an Internet Café where we battled with Google-Espana on the trail of a climbing wall…..and it seemed there just might be one at the University of Murcia. In between times me, Gav and Riceboy nipped in to a wee tapas bar (thirsty work all that Spanish googlewhacking) and we struck up a broken conversation with small moustachioed waiter who took much delight in telling us that there was indeed a climbing wall in Grenada…which is nearly 300Km away! Gracias for nothing, Senor! We then spent about 2 hours doing a campus tour of the University in the rain and sleet before eventually finding the (and here’s the rub) OUTDOOR climbing wall, which was quite frankly, a big pile of mierdo.

Back at the hotel we were a motley crew - damp, dejected and despondent at having a non-climbing day. Colin’s near perfect stat record of only one off day in 20 hotrock trips had taken a battering and it seemed the only big jugs we were going to get our hands round were of the cervesa jara variety. There was small comfort though in that the weather forecast showed a slight improvement for maņana, and there were already signs of the cloud clearing….but here’s the rub, the bad news was it revealed snow cover all round the hills of Murcia…and our barman told us that hadn’t happened for 15 years!

The following morning, we had clear but very cold weather. We decided to travel up towards Alicante to Marin crag, (we thought it best to avoid the Orihuela area in case of increased Guardia Civil presence looking for scratched hire cars….and the other local option ‘La Panocha’ was at an altitude of 500m so would have been snowed-up. As we approached Marin, we realised the crag was also above the snow-line and indeed a newly built snowman in a nearby holiday villa garden was a dead giveaway.

We got to the crag carpark to encounter another carload of disgruntled Brits bemoaning the freezing weather (it was around the –4°C mark!!) and just about to abandon the day and go and get pissed or drugged-up. We persevered however, and went round to the crag where there was some snow but the crag was predominantly dry. With disbelief, and with much amusement we managed to climb a handful of routes between grades IV and V+. The temperature had soared to a balmy +4°C, and it has to be said we were walking a fine line between frostbite and incredulity at even being able to climb at all. Colin was especially pleased, in fact I’m sure he said he was counting the routes as winter climbs in his statistical diary. Whatever turns you on, I suppose.

Back at the hotel we were a happier bunch, having snatched a successful day from the jaws of failure. There was only one thing for it….JARA! JARA! JARA!….JUG! JUG! JUG! While Gav and I were esconced in the bar Big Chris drove Colin to the airport as his two day break was over.

Monday, our last day and looked promisingly like our best yet, temperatures could possibly even get out of single figures!…and I took great delight in texting Colin with the good news. After breakfast overload we decided on a visit to the low-lying Callosa crag near Orihuela (but not too near) and it certainly turned out to be a very pleasant day with even some weak sunshine to raise the flagging spirits and get some warmth into our cold damp bones. The area abounds with middle grade classics and we set out for the easy access Sector Solano….’sunny bit’….so we were optimistic of a reasonable day. Shortly after starting climbing, a lone climber appeared. He introduced himself as Mikel and asked if he could join us for a few routes. It seems he was a vandriver on his siesta. We were only too pleased to oblige and he tied in with Gav and did a few climbs. It soon became obvious that he was a local expert and had obvious knowledge of the routes, but I don’t think he was prepared for what was about to happen. He led a long route up a slab beside where Chris and I were climbing. The route was just under 30m long so would require a 60m rope to lower off safely. What he didn’t bargain for (and here’s the rub) was Gavin’s old rope being only a 45m rope!…so he found himself just about to lower off the end of the rope whilst still around 15m off the deck. OUCH! Luckily Gav had noticed just in time and we had a scary few moments trying to explain in pidgin Spanish what was happening. Luckily the geezer was in control enough to realise the script and he down-climbed off the route safely.

So it all ended happily, and we said our farewells to Mikel and set out for the hotel to collect our bags and have an excuse for a final couple of jugs. What we didn’t expect was a total gridlock on the motorway about 6 Km short of Murcia. We decided to take a ‘short-cut’ through the city and encountered the Spanish ‘school run’ and rush hour all-in-one. Luckily my internet maps were still in the car and we managed to negotiate some sidestreets and by a remarkable fluke of navigation we ended up right at the hotel. An eventful yet enjoyable day to say the least.

We grabbed our bags and had a quick wash…

… then a rub…

…and a jug.

Big Al, 1^st February 2006

CLICK HERE FOR THE HOT-ROCK IMAGES