Gypsy Caves of Sacromonte

There has always been something mysterious and fascinating about the gypsies. I had never met a gypsy until I moved to Spain. My first encounter occurred at Plaça Catalunya in Barcelona when a gypsy lady successfully swiped 70,000 pesetas from my coin purse while trying to sell me flowers. I later met much nicer gypsy ladies who invited me into their homes and fed me lunch. Her people were much rougher than the other Spaniards. Their neighborhoods were worn down and their music and talk very loud. Mothers begged for handouts on the streets while they sent their children door to door selling bushels of garlic.

View of the Alhambra from Sacromonte

The Gypsies that lived at Sacromonte were supposedly no different. All the guide books that I read recommended that a person who comes to the area bring only that which they are willing to part with. And certainly don't come at night. That is when the alleyways become seedier and the eerie walkways become paths of pillage. They will lure you into their caves to watch flamenco performances and then ding you with some exorbitant charge that you didn't expect.

So, where exactly are the Gypsy caves of Sacromonte? They lie just beyond the Albaicín in the town of Granada. The Albaicín  is the old Moorish district, full of white-washed buildings that rise on a hillside, overlooking the Alhambra. From the far east side of the neighborhood, turn east onto the Camino del Sacromonte, and it won't be long until you're there. Arriving there on foot is a piece of cake.

The caves seem to have been constructed by the Moors near the end of the 15^th century when the Christians completed the reconquest of Spain with the victory over Granada, and forced them to flee the city. They used “pick masters” to dig into the rock and excavate the dwellings. Later, when the Moors were eventually driven from the peninsula, the Gypsies took over the caves. The Gypsies originally came with the armies of the Catholic Kings where they were hired as blacksmiths and kettle-makers.

So, this was our day. We did not take the added risk of traveling there at night. But I did bring my coin purse and camera, two items that I did not want stolen, yet I was somewhat confident that I would keep them from getting robbed. We traveled east on the Camino del Sacromonte and within minutes we arrived where we thought we should be. There was no street sign that said, “Welcome to Sacromonte.” At first, there appeared to be no caves. Yet on closer inspection, many of the buildings appeared to extend into the hillside, with only the entrance of the dwelling containing a facade that made it look like a normal building. We later learned that this was a normal part of the evolution of the caves, transforming them from a primitive cave dwelling to an extension built on it to create a more modern appearance. Yet, here and there, we still found raw caves built directly into the hillside.

Almost all the buildings were white-washed. They resembled “Smurf  houses” to an extent because of the their rounded nature, the chimney poking from the hillside, and the blue and white colors which were used together. Other than the main road from which we came, most of the other paths were only wide enough for pedestrians. Most of these stone paths were on a slope, winding from one dwelling to the next, with chumbera cactus growing along the side and cats and dogs roaming around in great abundance.

We read of a “museum” somewhere in the area, and at the top of a long stone stairway, we found that “museum.” A lady sat at a table and took our money (5 € each), and in front of us were several white-washed caves which had been restored to their original appearance and furnished with beds, baskets, tables, pots, kettles, stoves, brooms, and other items to give them the appearance of their original state. Another section contained signs describing the construction and history of the caves. The public bathrooms were even inside a cave. Even though this wasn't your standard museum, I thought that it was very helpful, especially since I wasn't about to knock on someone's door and ask them if I could go inside to look at their cave.

If there were a central section of Sacromonte, I would say that we were there. I wanted to move beyond this part, and into the outer regions where the tourists didn't go. We walked down a stone pathway, along white-washed façades with decorative pots hanging freely, clothes hanging out to dry and the occasional table and chair set out in front of the door. We came to a very small plaza with one small green fountain and a bench next to it. A set of stairs led up the hill and disappeared out of view. My wife decided to wait for me on the bench while I ventured to explore the stairs.

Not too far up, the stairs ended, turning into a grassy alley-way between two walls like those of a shanty-town. Trash littered the ground and foul smells arose. I felt like I was about to walk into someones back yard. I continued up the hill, past the walls, and the hillside opened up.  I found myself on a grassy slope, within sight of the old Arab walls. I was soon determined to walk up to the almond-colored walls and touch them, which I did, but I did it very hesitantly, because also within sight was a gypsy camp, built into a cave.

Nobody was visible at the camp. An old wooden fence surrounded a portion of the cave and a strange netting hung over part of the fenced portion. A tarp covered a large rectangular item and a wooden table held a flower pot. I saw a small, arch-shaped window. A skinny, metal chimney bent from another window and turned skyward like the letter “J.” Behind some of the scattered junk, I could see a door that was built into the hillside.

Looking back toward Sacromonte, this is the gorge of the Rio Darro.  Snow-capped Sierra Nevada in the background.

But the one item that caught my attention the most was the dog that was off to the side, just staring me down. He looked like a black and tan German Shepherd and at that moment, he was more worrisome than any Gypsy in the camp. Since I was already at the wall when I noticed him, I still took the time to touch the bricks and to notice the beautiful vista from where I stood. The jaded wall continued down-hill toward the Albaicín , and in the near distance stood the formidable palace of the Alhambra.

The old Arab walls.

I kept an eye on the dog and watched him hold still while I quickly moved down the hill and back through the shanty-town alley-way and down the stairs to the white-washed Smurf  houses. As I reached the safety of the small green fountain next to the bench, I was startled to feel the dog following me down the stairs. I don't think that he barked, or even growled, but his presence was enough to scare me. I cautiously moved away, and so did he.

As we finished our walk through Sacromonte, there was nothing that felt dangerous. We passed a teenage boy riding his bicycle up the hill and he smiled at us when I took his picture. We also found a cute little girl sitting just outside her doorway playing with a cat. Except for the experience with the dog, we never did feel unsafe. The whole experience, in some ways, was anticlimactic, because we did not get robbed. I'll take that.

Sullivan Canyon

The irony of Sullivan Canyon is that it is literally close enough that, at its mouth, you can throw a rock from Interstate 15, and probably hit it. Yet the feeling that one gets while hiking in it is that of isolation, mystery and intrigue.

Despite the proximity of the canyon to the interstate, we chose to begin our hike a couple of miles away at a small campground. The two mile walk to the canyon is beautiful in itself. My daughter and I forged the swollen Virgin River, then trekked across hills full of cholla cactus and creosote bushes. Some of the barrel cactus were taller than my daughter, although, she is short, but not that short.

At last, the trail entered Sullivan Canyon, and there it disappeared, giving way to a dry wash that ran the length of the canyon. I don't know if there was ever a time when permanent water ran through the bed of this wash, or if it was created by intermittent flash floods. Whichever the case, the alabaster-colored dry river bed, at one time, contained a significant amount of water for such a dry place as this.

So why did I choose to come to Sullivan Canyon? That's a good question. It certainly isn't a popular tourist destination (we saw no one else the entire time). Although it is beautiful in its own way, it is not a Zion National Park or Grand Canyon. But, I think that was part of the intrigue. Everyone that I talked to had never heard of the place. The internet gave me scant information.

Yet, the canyon has its possibilities. It is roughly twelve miles long, and would have been a perfect north-south corridor to the Virgin River for Paiutes who lived on the Arizona Strip.

Many sources indicate that the Armijo Route of the Old Spanish Trail followed the Virgin River through the gorge on its way to California. Although there are also sources, perhaps showing later journeys, that would indicate that the Armijo route bypassed the gorge and crossed over Utah Hill.

Jedediah Smith traveled through the gorge during his 1826 journey. His diary describes the challenge that he and his company faced. “The country on the Adams [Virgin] River above where I struck it had a peculiarly wild and rugged appearance . . . Early the next morning we started down in the bed of the general shallowness of the water. By the meanderings of the stream it was about 12 m through the rocks rising perpendicularly from the waters edge in most places to the height of 3 or 400 feet. A good many hot springs but not as hot as some I have seen at the Salt Lake and on the Big Horn . . . At this place I saw a new kind of quail some smaller than the Atlantic quail. The male has three or four feathers an inch long rising from the top of the head.”

Nowhere in Jedediah Smith's journal does it suggest that he wandered into Sullivan Canyon. But evidence indicates that people traveled through the general area, and I believe that an exploratory meandering into Sullivan Canyon would not be out of the question.

We hiked a total of about four miles up the canyon. Probably not quite half-way, but enough to wet our appetite for a return trip. One characteristic that interested me was the lack of Joshua Trees. The previous evening, we drove around on a graveled road on the north side of the river, and everywhere were forests of Joshua Trees. Yet here on the south side, not a single tree could be found. Instead, we found an abundance of cactus and small green shrubs that carpeted the hillside. Barrel cactus grew on the ledges, protruding into the skyline like a knife stabbed into the hillside.

The walk was relatively gentle. No car-sized boulders to climb over or thick willows to forge through. We only had to watch out for loose gravel and that pesky cactus.

One of the interesting aspects of the canyon were the abundance of caves. Not necessarily deep caverns, but large enough to build a fire and sleep the night. My mind wandered back to possibility of wandering Indians and frontiersman, and I wondered who could have spent the night in one of these caves. If I were a Spaniard looking for place to hide gold, this is where I would do it! Some of these limestone walls were literally poc-marked with caverns.

After that thought, there was no doubt where we would take one of our snack-breaks. We found a hole in the rock, removed our packs and ate a Power Bar. The ground wasn't quite as smooth as I had anticipated. It would take a little work to sleep on it. But the view was spectacular, and we even had a couple of barrel cacti growing just on the fringe of the cavern. As we relaxed, I felt a lot like Ether, hiding in the cavity of a rock.

I hoped to spot some Bighorn Sheep. I brought binoculars just in case we eyed them meandering along the ledges. But none were to be seen. The land appeared ideal for them; plenty of grass, lots of craggy walkways, and a short distance to water. A friend told me that they have tried to relocate the sheep in recent years due to the proximity of I-15. That would make sense. Along the upper slopes of the canyon, we could see what appeared to be game trails. I also saw a set of tracks in the dirt, near the wash. They could have been either deer or sheep.

We saw a lone hawk and several flocks of small blue birds flying from bush to bush. We also found a carefully built nest, strategically placed in the crook of a cholla cactus.

 Although most of canyon which we hiked was much the same, I really enjoyed it because the landscape was very different from what I am used to. Different kinds of cactus lay side by side with yucca plants and Brigham Tea. 

 We never did find any archaeological evidence, but I knew that it had to be all around me. It left me with a feeling of wanting to return and explore further.

At the four-mile point in our hike, I saw from a distance what appeared to be water flowing from a rock. Knowing that there was a spring somewhere in the area, we decided to check out the validity of my find. We left the wash at the bottom of the canyon and trekked up the slope and over brush and boulders. The closer we became, the water seemed to be playing hide-and-go-seek with us. At last, we arrived to the water-soaked rock, only to find that it wasn't much more than that. Any water that had seeped out of the hillside and onto the rock, wasn't enough to do anything but expire before reaching the bottom of the boulder. So much for my mirage. No way to fill a water bottle with this.

At that, we decided that it was time to turn around. The hike back went a little quicker, but perhaps that was because, in my mind, I was already planning my return trip. Next time, I will explore much deeper into the canyon.