Travel: Exploring the Andalucian countryside

AS MY teenage children tear off – Richard Hammond-style – into the Spanish hinterland aboard roaring quad bikes, leaving me, quite literally, for dust, a thought occurs.

How is it that these two, self-conscious and charmingly awkward when opening the door to the chambermaid or approaching the pool boy for towels lest they somehow make fools of themselves, are fearless in the face of sure and certain death in this dusty outback?

Oh yes, make no mistake. I have read too much about the fate that befalls those foolish enough to take the power of the quad for granted. Head injuries. Comas. Rik Mayall. Ozzy Osbourne. I rest my case. I am all too conscious of my own – and my children’s – mortality to take pointless risks. They, on the other hand, know no fear.

Which is why, after only a few seconds of very basic instruction (all in Spanish and involving lots of gesturing and enthusiastic nodding, followed by the shrugging of shoulders and a hearty wave – adios amigos) we are off. Into the 45km of trails that surround La Bobadilla, a five-star hacienda set in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada in Andalucia.

Helmets are compulsory, of course. Yet still I am fearful. My nervously stuttering engine is loud enough to stifle the alternating squeals and curses as I hit yet another deep rut in the dried-out mud tracks, sending me leaping from my seat, only to land with a hard thud (that’s going to bruise!), or veer out of control, up a steep bank, grazing my exposed calves on ferocious thorns and thistles in the process. Years of depending on power steering have obviously left me complacent. And where’s the reverse gear on one of these things?

But if I thought that seeing my children disappear behind a cloud of red dust, leaving me panda-faced and nearly blind in their wake, was bad, what is much, much worse is not seeing any dust at all, knowing they are now far ahead of their anxious, slow-coach, ever-fretful mother.

Sixty kilometres from Malaga, 70km from Granada and around 150km from Cordoba and Seville, La Bobadilla is designed according to the architectural principles of Andalucian villages of old. It’s an oasis of peace and calm and a haven for birdlife, with interconnecting courtyards, gardens and tiled patios. But don’t let the splendid isolation fool you – you can be as active or as inactive as you like. We have already played tennis (badly), tried our hands at archery (with a little more success). We’ve used the gym, attempted an expedition on the mountain bikes and I have been for an unexpectedly tortuous run up and down (mainly up) the 3km driveway to the main road and back again.

Many of those who stay here hire a car and explore the surrounding countryside, or the hotel can arrange transfers. The nearest town, Loja, is worth a visit, with its renaissance and neo-classical churches and alcazaba, or Moorish fortification, as well as the protected waterfalls along the Rio Genil. Further afield, we could travel to the beaches of Malaga, or the flower-filled gardens and the mosque of Cordoba, a city famous for its flamenco. Then there is Granada, home to the majestic Alhambra. The grand palace and citadel served as a residence of the Nasrid sultans and royalty from as early as the ninth century and is the stuff of fairy tales.

But the hotel itself is almost an Alhambra in miniature: all fountains, iron fretwork, imposing archways and heavy, Moorish-style furniture. It is luxurious, certainly, but with a homely, relaxing edge that enfolds the visitor in comfort. We lounge by the pool, with its bridge and fountains and cooling palms, all kept lush in the searing heat by an army of gardeners and their trusty sprinklers. We visit the turtle lake, feed the deer with some brittle, scrappy handfuls of grass and take shelter from the sun in the pretty Mediterranean chapel. And we feast at the award- winning La Finca – Andalucia’s only five fork restaurant.

It is our penultimate day and we are weighing up the transporation options – horse power of the 110cc, four-wheeled variety, or the much more literal but more leisurely kind, on the back of one of the hotel’s trusty Andalucian steeds. Raw power, unsurprisingly, wins the vote. But, as my quad stalls for the sixth (and final) time and I realise to my horror that our map has fallen out of my back pocket (probably during one of the more violently bumpy stages of our journey) we are forced to face the uncomfortable truth. We’re lost.

The sun is beating down. We have no phones, no water and no sense of direction. And we are now one quad down.

As luck would have it, a passing farmer is able to give us some pointers, so we blindly set off, walking some of the way, getting a ‘backy’ for others. Our trek through the barren wilderness takes around 20 minutes (I guess we hadn’t made it quite as far as we thought we had).

And – bonus – we’re still in time for cocktail hour. A little saddle sore, perhaps, and more than a little grubby. But such, I tell the teens, is the stuff of adventures. The Hamster would be proud.

Finca La Bobadilla, Ctra Salinas, Loja, Granada, Spain ([phone], www.barcelolabobadilla.com ). Rates from €180 in low season for a double room to €620 for a suite in high season, based on two people sharing and including taxes and breakfast.

Jet2 (jet2.com) flies to Malaga from Edinburgh and Glasgow up to four days a week. Flights start from £29.99 one way including taxes.