Costa de la Luz Eco-Backpackers Hostal

For 50 euros a week from Nov. 3-16, I joined David and Jane Cooney and their two kids Robin and Emily at the Costa de la Luz Eco-Backpackers Hostel, in southern Spain near Cadiz. I scored a bottom bunk in a dorm, cooked in the somewhat porous kitchen/bath building and hitched into Vejer or over to the beaches, catching rides with local old men or smitten tourists who thought they'd found the 'wild' side of Spain.

This British ex-pat couple came to Costa de la Luz 16 years ago as young 20somethings, bought a couple of acres of land in the middle of nowhere but with a fantastic view of the scrubby farmland and Atlantic rolling in on deserted beaches. Over the years, they and their friends have built several bunkhouses, a kitchen building and the very nice house they live in, learning more and building better as they went along.

They run an English-Spanish Language School in nearby Conil, cart their kids to school in Canas de Meca, and end up spending a lot of their time barreling down dirt tracks, driving hell for leather to schools, shops, work, and parties.

Unfortunately, David is a bit of a liar -- euphemistically stating on their web page that their incredibly remote outpost in the campo located between inland Vejer de la Fontera and Canas de Meca, the world famous beach for surfing and parasailing, was only 3 km. from the beach. Perhaps by ultralight, my dear!! We walked and hitched and walked and hitched and it took a better part of 2 hours. Very pleasant nonetheless, walking up a dirt road with the sea tantalizingly just ahead and yet the road took twists and turns through forests of umbrella pine and the small hamlet of San Ambrosio and a natural park and another natural park, and along the cliffs, before finally depositing us on the shore.

David also insisted that their place was ONLY 3 km from the village of Vejer. There are no busses or taxis and very few CARS in this area so walking in and out is the main method of getting to the beach or the town.

Tramping uphill, down hill, uphill, down hill, fruitlessly hitching, walking all the way into town, takes more than an hour. Coming back from town we usually managed to snag a ride and one English-speaking provider laughed when we asked if it was ONLY 3 km to David's barrio. He clocked it and it was 7 km, 14 RT, long way David, long way!

When we pointed out the discrepancy, he just laughed and admitted that maybe his odometer was off, then jumped into his battered 4 wheel drive and drove like a madman, off to pick up his kids at school.

Well you can see how beautiful it was, lovely vistas, remote, lonely, but elemental and wild. In the mornings I'd wake to roosters crowing and donkeys braying, and sip my coffee in the doorway soaking up the weak sun, waiting for the day to emerge. At night, the stars were so bright you could navigate in the pitch darkness by them. The Milky Way was a lacy swath across the sky and the constellations must have beeen from another world because I recognized none of them, they are natives of North Africa and the Sahara.

I shared the bunkhouse with a young German girl, Meike, who was wwoofing with David and Jane. We cooked together in the evening, I shared my wine, she shared her roll-up tobacco, and if things were really slow, we would watch the mice rummage through the cupboards in search of food. The previous guests had left all their food in unprotected drawers and the mice had had an easy time of it. They simply chose a drawer, gnawed through the packaging, and ate til they were stuffed.

We decided we actually wanted to eat our food ourselves, so placed everything in the fridge. Soon the mice became frantic as it dawned on them that their sources had dried up. They became brazen and bold and scampered through our dishes, into the sink, over the compost, even tried eating the label of the olive oil in the hopes of finding sustenance.

Meike and I had an ethical dilemma -- we both voiced the possibility of 'should we FEED the mice?' As we considered the ridiculousness of that proposal, we came to compromise. Any food in the compost bowl could be the mices', all other food was ours and would be put away. The mice could choose to move on or move out, their choice.

Somewhere along the line, the lid to the olive oil bottle got lost. For several days we sprinkled oil on our salads, used it to make omelettes and other food. As Meike picked up the bottle one dinnertime, she remarked that it seemed very dark, very dark indeed.

And there, perfectly preserved in the bottom of the olive oil bottle, was the small newly deceased body of a mouse.

At least we HOPED it was newly deceased.