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An Andalusian Adventure – Day 1

Back to my happy place …

It was after an uneventful flight that landed on time, albeit late in the evening/night (10pm local time) that our problems began. Swiftly exiting the plane, we headed along corridor and through passage, before arriving at Passport Control. Or not quite at Passport Control – more correctly at the back of a very, very long queue to get to the front of Passport Control. Had we still been Europeans, we could have joined a long, but quick moving queue, but no, since a disastrous day in 2016, we are no longer Europeans so instead had to join a longer, slower moving queue. An hour and ten minutes later, we finally emerged from the purgatory of immigration control and onto the sanctity of Spanish soil, to begin our Andalusian adventure. Join us on our journey across the Costa del Sol.

It was dark, late and we were tired as we got in our taxi to take us on the 45 minute trip to our home for the next few days – Nerja. As we barrelled along the smooth, speedy road taking us east of Malaga, a beautiful big orange moon greeted us and guided us to our destination. We arrived after midnight to find our apartment clean, quiet and comfortable and soon climbed into bed, dreaming of the day to come.

We woke to blue skies and sunshine, and an instant feeling that any hiccups along the way were a price to pay for the privilege of a few days away. Getting our bearings, we headed out, but soon stopped for breakfast – tostada con tomate, coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice. Delicious! To be honest, we don’t rate Spanish cuisine too highly, but tostada con tomate is the best breakfast in the world! As we chomped on our toast, lavished with olive oil and pulped tomatoes, it was obvious that we were “fresh off the boat” – we were the ones sat in full sunshine, all the other patrons were, perhaps more sensibly, sat in the shade. After months of grey sky and rain at home, blue sky and sunshine seemed like such a treat.

We began to explore – down to the Balcon de Europa to see the sea and take in the vista, then through the pretty streets and squares, stopping again for more coffee. Now “localized” Becky sought the shade, but I still sat in the sun, soaking up the rays and luxuriating in the warm glow.

Before long, we found ourselves walking along the beach front, and I could resist no longer.

It was time for a dip.

The water was inviting, but as soon as you dipped a toe in, you realised looks can be deceptive – it was not warm, in fact a little chilly. But I had my trunks on by now, so I headed out to sea, but by the time it was thigh height my resolve was wavering. I paused. I waited, and paused again. Eventually, though, I took the plunge and was in, swimming a few vigorous strokes to resist the clawing cold. I have some friends who go cold water swimming in the lakes and sea back home in the UK – how do they do it, I thought?

But soon I got used to the water, the sun was shinning, and I swam happily up and down the shoreline.

I was back in my happy place, swimming in the sea. Heaven.

Once out, like an iguana, I basked on some rocks to warm up before we continued along the beach front. We encountered the “Fountain of Europe” – a sculpture – that first piqued my interest, and then left me a little sad.

A stone circle with the names of cities of Andalusia carved into its base, from which a tower of blocks rose, each block carved with the name of a country – England, Germany, Greece, Belgium to name a few of the nine nations named. Reading the “blurb” that went with the sculpture, it told that it was built to mark the fraternity of nations that share a similar culture, democracy, and outlook. It was erected in 1986 to mark Spain joining the EU. It does sadden me that we, the UK, are no longer part of the EU, and the short sighted folly that caused us to leave.

But I wont let that ruin my visit. I have been practising my Spanish on unsuspecting, but very forgiving, locals. Now, most of the the time, I can make myself understood, and understand any replies, and being able to a least “attempt” to use the language does add another dimension to my holiday experience.

Nerja hasn’t disappointed: pretty, compact, busy but not overcrowded, a happy few days await, and I am sure I’ll be back in my happy place – the sea – before too long.

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A Greek Odyssey – day 23

City Break

Ermoupoli, the capitol of Syros, is a bit different from everywhere else that we have stayed – it is a city in its own right and is much less depenedent on tourism, giving it a different feel from our other destinations. We spent the day exploring the town (city does make it sound bigger than it is) and after breakfast under porticoes and an hour or so popping in and out of shops, we decided to visit the church on the hill that we hadn’t yet seen, the church that we originally though was in Ano Syros, the church that you see on all the photos of Syros.

Syros is on a hill, rising from sea level at the port and, despite a welcome return of a bit of a breeze, we didn’t fancy walking up the hill, so decided to take the free “mini” bus to the church at Anatasi. Now, I can’t complain as (other than exharisto, yassou and yamas) I speak no Greek, but probably because this isn’t just a tourist town, there is much less English spoken, and the routes and schedules of the busses do rely on a lot of local knowledge. Anyway, we got on a bus – but I think the helpful passengers all though we wanted to go to Ano Syros as, when we reached that stop they told us – almost forcibly ejected us – to get off, However, stood outside the bus we managed to explain we wanted to go somewhere else, and they let us back on. Using appalling pronunciation and a map, we manged to get them to understand where we wanted to go and, after a few more minutes, when we reached a T-junction they told us to get of and indicated right, as the bus headed left. I’m sure there where cheers from the passengers when we headed in the right direction – it was a lovely moment a group of strangers doing what they could to help two bemused tourists.

Anyway, we then had a ten minute walk – on the flat – to the church. It was worth the effort for the views over the city and up to Ano Syros.

We the walked down the hill – much easier than going up, but all those stairs!, still not simple – both of us commenting that it reminded us a little of Naples: its a town that has grown organically rather than being planned, and living and practically trump asthetics – but that doesn’t mean its not pretty, it is, and that the residents don’t care about what it looks like, they do (and the pic at the top is a giant mural, painted as part of a competition) but if a telegraph pole and wires need stringing up, they get put up.

The town doesn’t have a beach (but we are beach bound on the island tomorrow) but does have a fantastic swimming platform and we headed down from the hill, and plunged into the most beautiful blue, refreshing water.

Ermoupoli has been a bit different and I’ve enjoyed our couple of days here. And an added bonus, today I spotted both “Thunder” and “Blue Star Paros” – the ferries that brought us to and will take us away from Syros – in port at the same time.