There’s something about nature and the great outdoors that draws Mr Grumpy in. Give him a bird, a mountain, a strange geological formation or, apparently, a large quantity of salt, and he’s happy.
Today was one such occasion.
We had set out on a fairly mundane shopping excursion when Mr G suggested a “quick detour” to San Pedro del Pinatar to see the famous pink salt lagoons. Anyone familiar with Mr G will know that a quick detour can mean almost anything, but we had nowhere particularly urgent to be, so off we went.
If you look at the salt flats on Google Maps satellite view, they appear as extraordinary splashes of pink among the browns and greens of the surrounding landscape. Salt has been produced here for centuries and the salinas are still very much a working operation, producing tens of thousands of tonnes each year.
We’d heard the previous day that some of the salt ponds had been drained ready for the annual harvest and that the pink colouring was particularly noticeable. Mr G therefore had the notion that we should get there before the tractors and giant scoops moved in.
The tractors, unfortunately, had other ideas.
Finding the salinas was easy and there was a free parking area, a fact that immediately increased Mr G’s appreciation of the entire experience. The area looked wonderful for walking and cycling, with dedicated paths alongside the road as it meandered between the salt flats.
And then there were the flamingos.
They were everywhere, striding elegantly through the shallow water, dipping their heads to feed and generally looking considerably more sophisticated than either of us.
Although the salt harvest had already begun and machinery was busy scooping great white mountains from some of the ponds, a beautiful pale pink hue still shimmered across the water.
We parked and followed the boardwalk leading out between the lagoons towards the Mediterranean. The salinas form part of the protected Parque Regional Salinas y Arenales de San Pedro del Pinatar, an important wetland and stopping-off point for numerous species of birds. Flamingos may be the show-offs of the place, but they share it with avocets, stilts, terns, egrets, herons and plenty of other wildlife.
Eventually the path delivered us onto a long, sandy, wonderfully wild beach with barely a hint of commercial activity.
“This would be a great beach to spend the day at with a picnic,” declared Mr G.
Mrs G agreed.
“We could bring the family next year,” he continued. “We’d need to bring parasols.”
At this point Mrs Grumpy’s mind moved away from the beauty of nature and began calculating exactly how many tonnes of sandwiches, crisps, bottles of drink, towels, parasols and assorted family paraphernalia this idyllic day might involve. A disturbing image passed through her mind of herself trudging along the boardwalk doing a fairly convincing impression of a packhorse.
As if somehow reading the complicated jumble going on inside her head, Mr G added:
“I might have to buy one of those trolley things you pull to the beach.”
Mrs G felt an immediate wave of relief.
The potential outing was saved.
On the drive back through the salt flats we spotted one particularly enthusiastic flamingo feeding quite close to the road. Mr G stopped the car so we could watch it.
It was magnificent.
There is something rather special about seeing a creature like that in the wild, just a few metres away, completely unconcerned by your presence. We sat quietly watching it and marvelling at how lucky we were.
Unfortunately, not everyone had received the memo about the quietly bit.
Another tourist – nationality unknown and stupidity apparently universal – decided the best way to appreciate this beautiful wild bird was to march towards it, clapping his hands loudly and roaring in an attempt to frighten it or encourage it to fly off, having had his fix of seeing such beauty close at hand. The flamingo seemed unperturbed, thankfully. The tourist obviously had no thought of others wanting to be so close to nature.
Mrs G, meanwhile, found herself wondering whether pushing him into the salt lagoon to see whether he could swim would constitute an unacceptable interference with the local wildlife.
Honestly. What possesses someone to see a peaceful, majestic animal minding its own business and think, I know, I’ll scare it?
Fortunately, Mrs G restrained herself and no tourists were harmed during the writing of this guide.
Our verdict?
The Salinas of San Pedro del Pinatar are absolutely beautiful and somewhere we’ll definitely return to when we have more time. Walk, cycle, take a picnic, watch the flamingos, twitch and enjoy one of Murcia’s loveliest natural spaces.
The parking is free, which earns an additional Grumpy Old Guides star from Mr G.
The flamingos are magnificent.
The tourists can occasionally be idiots.
Ignore them.
All will be well.
