I´m sure that there are many train journeys in the world that can be classed as great: The Orient Express from London to Venice; The Trans Siberian Express across the vast Russian continent; The Bullet across Japan to name but a few, but I am convinced that the slow train from Algeciras to Granada must surely rate as one of the most beautiful journeys, at least in Europe. The route takes in such vastly differing landscapes from the coast it winds its way gracefully through rolling hills, steep sided mountain gorges, and finally across the vast fertile plain that lies ahead of the city of Granada, before the landscape explodes into the grand massif of the Sierra Nevada. It seems so unlikely that it can alter so much between the two cities.

The journey, though not particularly long in distance, is certainly lengthy in time, taking nearly five hours. The train, operated by RENFE, though lacking in speed, is clean and comfortable and reasonably quiet, but very basic. There is only one toilet in five carriages, and no buffet car or trolley service. So be warned, it is a long journey, be prepared and take a packed lunch! This is my only gripe, but more than adequately made up for by the spectacular scenery on route.

The journey for my partner, Lisa and me, began at 7:15 a.m. on a Saturday towards the end of January, full of anticipation about the destination city, but no knowledge of the journey. Who was it that said it is the journey that is important not the arrival? I think that R L Stevenson may have said something along those lines in Travels with a Donkey; �For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel�s sake. The great affair is to move.� He was so right! I have lived in Andaluc�a for some time now, but like many northern Europeans, haven�t ventured too far into the interior, preferring in most part to remain close to the coast. This I now appreciate to be my loss. The destination, Granada, was fantastic, but so was the journey.

The first half hour or so on the train was passed in the dark, but when the sun started to rear his head for the day, what a sight befell us. We were already surrounded by stunning rolling hills, at the heart of Parque Natural Los Alcornacales. These hills being covered in part by cork oak forest, Europe�s largest forest of its kind. It is fascinating to see the Oaks, an evergreen, at various stages of growth, from completely bare trunks, to being fully covered with bark awaiting the next cut. The trees are harvested every 10 � 12 years, and despite the apparent barbarity of the act, actually causes it no harm. Other natural sights to be spotted from the train include booted eagles that can be seen circling on thermals above the hill sides. The train makes several brief stops at quaint stations at the heart of rural villages and towns, such as Jimena de la Frontera and Gaucin whitewashed and shimmering in the early morning sun. Fortunately not too many people boarded at any stage so the carriages never got too busy.

It is from Gaucin that the train pulls us into the most spectacular stage of the trip entering the southern flanks of the Sierra de Grazalema. This region was declared Andaluc�a�s first natural park in 1984. At times the tracks seem to hang perilously close to the edge above steep gorges, where torrents of white water can be seen raging beneath. This stage is not for the faint of heart, especially as on more than one occasion one could see the skeletons of carriages rusting away far beneath, obviously beyond the reach of retrieval, left to the vagaries of mother nature to dispose of in her own inimitable way. Looming above the rails, buttresses and spires of limestone reached into the rays of early morning sunshine, breaking the shafts of light and casting shadows across the gorge. This stage of the journey runs parallel to the Rio Guadiaro for quite some time. The Guadiaro, a river I frequently cross on the AP7 near the coast, even at the height of summer I have been surprised at how much water flows, and it is now clear as to why when I see its catchment where any rain or snow that falls is funnelled and filtered through the rock into deep pools between waterfalls and rapids. I have since discovered that the Grazalema is Spain�s wettest region with an annual rainfall of well in excess of 2,000 mm.

The next station we arrive at is that of Ronda. For all that I have heard about Ronda and its beauty, the approach by train to the city centre is not pretty, with industrial estates and tenement buildings. There is no more than a five minute stay here and we gently pull away. The scenery gradually begins to alter as we approach what can be described as olive country. We are now on a huge plateau of gently rolling hills flanked magnificently by rugged mountains. Farmers and labourers are busy in the olive groves. Fires burned everywhere, stoked by dead and unnecessary wood from the trees, and scrub cleared from around the base of the trees to prevent the risk of a greater loss in the dry season that will arrive later in the year. It amazes me just how much of life can be seen whilst travelling by train, and to some extent, when it is a journey in a region that is unfamiliar it is almost like watching a documentary that provokes a determination to discover more.

Eventually we make the approach into Granada station. What a sight met us! A large city with an obvious mix of old and new buildings with the most remarkable back drop: the Sierra Nevada. Spain�s highest mountain range was wearing its� winter coat which added to the magnificence of the vista. The clear blue sky above the range made for the perfect photo opportunity, with crystal clear and intense light. The perfect juxtaposition of nature�s beauty and man�s work; the grand massif of the Sierra Nevada and the Granada city skyline. It was 12:30 and time to begin the next stage of the adventure, exploring the city which is a tale in itself.