Granada  LEGR

Date of Visit = July 1998

Pilot: = Chris Belton

e-mail = chris@yarboo.freeserve.co.uk

Field Report = We came in from Tangiers, but couldn’t fly direct because of the mountains, up to 7,000 feet. To be safely clear we needed to fly at about 9,000, which with the OAT at least 20 degrees above ISA, was about 11,000 density altitude. With a fully laden C-150, this was not an option!

Hence we routed along the Spanish coast and turned NE at Malaga VOR to cross at the lowest part. I think we were at about 5,500 when we crossed the last of the mountains and came out over the valley, with Granada below at 1,860 feet. The turbulence had been gradually building, now it was horrendous. Apparently it’s famous for it. What with the afternoon heat over this desert landscape, a strong wind, and the mountain ranges on both sides, it was pretty scary, and we got down as quickly as possible, practically throwing the poor old thing onto the runway. When we got out it was like stepping in front of the blower-heater in the hangar. At 42 degrees the apron was no place for a discussion about a lost flightplan - a regular occurrence in Spain. Good job I had a copy.

The modern air conditioned terminal was a welcome relief. The information desk found us a list of cheap hotels, and since the bus had just left (I think they are hourly during the day, but this was evening), we grudgingly took a taxi, but it couldn’t go the last bit of the way because the streets were too narrow.

Photo: John Hardy

That evening we sat on the steps of Granada cathedral listening to a band playing Valencia! The next day we climbed an enormous hill in the searing heat to see the Alhambra, only to be told we had to go down again and come up the other side to buy the tickets. We were then accosted by two gypsies who pressed bunches of rosemary into our hands, then demanded money with menaces.

Photo: John Hardy

After this rather strange cultural interlude, we made for the bus stop to get to the airport. There were two stops fifty or so metres apart, neither bore the number of our bus, and no-one knew which was the right one, so we had to cover them both, then run like hell to the right one.

At the airport we managed to gain access to the staff canteen after I moaned about the price of the public one. It’s in the building where you pay the landing fees, and very good it is too.

Looking out of the window I began to wonder how we were ever going to get out of this valley. I discussed it with the lad in the flight planning office, who was also a pilot, and he showed me a route out to the north east, round the back of the hill with the hermitage on it and up a valley to Jaen. They’re used to having to deal with small aeroplanes in high temperatures.

Our departure was delayed by a stray dog on the runway. It took them ages to do anything about it, but then, it was siesta time, and the place was deserted.

Photo: John Hardy