Corfu and Kefalonia, Sifnos and Syros: at some point you have all held the number one spot in my heart as my favourite Greek island, but after a week on Alonissos you have all been knocked of that perch.
Alonissos has been wonderful, my new favourite Greek island. It is pretty with the green pine trees that were missing from the Cyclades, the swimming has been superb – crystal clear water from stone or shingle beach (contrary to popular opinion, neither Becky nor I are fans of sandy beaches), its had enough to keep one interested, but no so busy it feels overcrowded. It has been “authentically” Greek, with friendly people and delicious food. As we sat munching cakes and coffee at our favourite bakery for breakfast, Becky commented that we haven’t heard blaring music once during our holiday; we must be getting old as we increasingly seek peace and tranquillity as hallmarks of a good trip!
As I write, we await the mid-day(ish) arrival of this ferry (Seajets Superstar) to take us on a thirty minute journey to Skopelos, and begin the next phase of our Sporades adventure.
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.
