The Rain In Spain

It is cold. Very cold. Penetratingly and achingly cold. The last day of 2014 was one of searingly blue skies and towards mid afternoon, it was possible to feel some genuine warmth out on the terrace and in the more sheltered parts of the town centre, but once the shadows begin to lengthen, so do the temperatures plummet. Last night in Granada the chill was forecast to drop as low as -6 Celsius, from which we can knock off another degree or so for Alfacar and add in the wind chill factor. This all led to a shivering, tooth chattering walk to my local bar for my customary holiday coffee and glass of warming cognac.

So what, I hear you say? These are rather unexceptional temperatures for the New Year, aren't they? Well, yes... but bear in mind that we are talking about the south of Spain here, with its reputation of being the favourite and meteorologically predictable sun, sea and sand destination of the package holiday multitudes.

But there's so much more to Spain than the holiday costas, crammed into a tiny coastal fringe that occupies a fraction of the country's landmass. I am convinced that the huge majority of tourists heading for Torremolinos and Marbella have no idea that the highest mountains in Europe outside the Alps and the Caucasus are just an hour or two up the road, nor that these same mountains, the Sierra Nevada, are the location for Europe's most southerly ski centre. If I go to the window after nightfall and look out, I can see the cold twinkle of its lights huddled beneath the 11,148 foot peak of Veleta. What I cannot see from my terrace is the summit of Mulhacen which, at 11,413 ft, is the highest mountain in the Iberian Peninsular, and one that presides over a unique and highly endangered alpine ecosystem that has been completely isolated from similar montane habitats for thousands of years.

Veleta from Alfacar



To put this into perspective, the highest point to which you can ascend to in faraway, chilly England is the 3,209 ft Scafell Pike. Alfacar and I are situated just a little over 200 feet lower than this, where altitude plus latitude certainly make for some very interesting weather. Us Brits do like our seasons neatly ordered, as with so many other things in life. Winter should be cold but not excessively so, and there must be an acceptable number of days during which it snows moderately. Spring is a time of gentle rains and ascending temperatures; it may be blustery in March, but certainly not in May. Summer should permit a modicum of decently attired sunbathing in parks and gardens but woe betide the weather if it dares indulge in a drought or a hosepipe ban, because then it will get its bottom spanked by the BBC and sent to bed without any supper. And so forth into Autumn, the proverbial season of "mists and mellow fruitfulness" which if it knows what's good for it, like likewise not risk upsetting those delicate British sensibilities.

The climate of Granada is, in comparison, positively misbehaved. From biting winds, black ice on the roads and more snow than I ever saw in the north of England, Winter can lurch with scarcely any warning into the flood zone, with torrential downpours and cataracts of muddy, gravelly water charging through the narrow, poorly drained streets of Alfacar. The following day might be warm enough for you to strip off all those stifling winter woollies and venture out in attire more suited to a London July. The day after might bring enough snow to accumulate and linger for several days, especially if followed by a hard freeze.

 

View from Viznar towards Alfacar and the Sierra Elvira

Spring, like Santa and honest politicians, is something that few people here actually believe in. There is a saying in Granada that there are only two seasons - summer and winter. While this is not exactly the case, the transition from cold to heat is pronounced and so rapid that if you blink, you are liable to miss it. The first signs of Spring, however, appear during the coldest months because even at these altitudes the first brave almond trees venture to flower in January. A brief fuzz of green and a gorgeous kaleidoscope of wild flowers occupies a transient window of opportunity before the sun reclaims its throne and banishes any hint of rain for months on end, and for many people any chance of a comfortable night's sleep. In July and August, daytime temperatures remain in the mid 30s, peaking at a little over 40 now and then, and this is the way things are until Autumn sneaks past unobtrusively, turning the odd leaf yellow as it tries to remain un-noticed. Then, suddenly, Winter is here, throwing open the door and making itself completely at home like an unannounced and not entirely welcome guest.

The Granada climate has the ability to surprise by coming up with everything imaginable with which to spice up the two-season system. At such altitude, we often have our head in the clouds, while at other times Alfacar floats above a mysterious sea of fog that obliterates the Vega (the plains around Granada). There are violent showers of giant hailstones, sudden hot winds that blow up from Africa and create havoc on the terrace by throwing container plants around, even the occasional tornado (I saw a small one here a few years ago and recently, a spectacular water spout was caught on film down on the Granada coast). With such incredible views over the plains, I can watch storms brewing 50 kilometres away, and the peaks of the Sierra Nevada give rise to the most spectacular lenticular clouds I have ever seen.

The weather helps create of Granada a veritable photographers paradise and opens up opportunities for keen gardeners like myself that I could not have contemplated in the endless damp of northern England. But that is something for another day. In the meantime, here's wishing you all an excellent New Year.