As we took off from Malaga airport and looked down at the coastline, it was clear to see how the floods had turned the sea brown with mud an debris washed of the land. And it was also becoming clear how devastating the flooding had been in the Valencia region on the East coast of Spain. As I write (Thursday evening – two days on) the death toll is 158, and may still go up. This picture, sourced from Instagram, conveys the power and devastation of the torrents of water that flowed through Spain on Tuesday:
and there are countless images and videos like that. As I said in my earlier post, we never felt unsafe, but we were just lucky and in a region that, whilst badly affected, was nowhere near as badly hit as the Valencia region. Having seen the water racing through gullys, across fields, alongside (and, sometimes, across) roads, we witnessed the untamable power of these flash floods. My heart and thoughts are with the people of Spain at this time. For once, I am grateful to be back in England, but I look forward to one day returning to Spain, we still have so much to see and do there.
It began last night, when we were in bed in Ronda, and then thunder started to rumble. The thunder claps were immense, loud and long, and after the roar you could hear the heavy rain falling outside. We had a bus to catch at 10 am, to take us to Malaga, and we arrived at the bus station cold, wet and bedraggled. But the bus was warm and on time,and we set off in pouring rain, happy to be leaving Ronda, although we both had loved the city.
The rain continued to pour, and we saw gullys flowing with muddy water alongside the road. We were in the middle of a major weather system.
The further we went, the bigger those streams became, until they were torrents of muddy water, sweeping through the fields, and occasionally spilling onto the road.
And then we came to a halt, at the back of a long line of traffic. We weren’t moving forward, nothing was coming the other way. It all seemed a bit ominous. And the rain continued to fall. A police car passed us, travelling on the (empty) wrong side of the road, and 5 minutes later, a stream of vehicles passed us travelling in the other direction. Then we edged forward, and stopped. Then started, and stopped. Eventually we reached the front of the queue and the reason for our delay became apparent …
An hour later than expected, we rolled into Malaga bus station, relieved to be at our destination. At no time did we feel in danger, and it was a bit of an adventure, but it was an “edge of your seat” journey, rather than the planned relaxing passage through the mountainous countryside, marvelling at the scenery.
And still it rained – no longer heavy rain, but rain non-the-less, as we made our way to the train station, and then onto Benalmadena.
We dropped our bags in our hotel for the night and, as the rain had finally stopped – or so we thought – we headed out to have a quick look round in case the rain returned, as forecast.
We’d not gone one hundred metres when the rain drops began to fall. With umbrellas up, we pressed on but if truth be told, a little dis-spirited, we’d have both happily headed back to the UK at this point.
We reached the sea front and sky began to brighten
And before long we were sat having a coffee in the sunshine, and shedding the multitude of layers we’d been wearing since arriving in chilly Ronda two days ago.
We wandered up the sea front – it was clear Benalmadena had also taken a hammering in the recent rains – enjoying the change in temperature, light and sense of well-being. Reaching the habour, we turned and re-traced our steps, all the time growing in appreciation of this seaside town, glad we hadn’t already gone home, and glad that our final memories of our Andalusian adventure would be made warmed by the sun and against the background of blue sky.
We sat outside for our last supper, as day became night, becoming bewitched by beautiful Benalmadena.
Sitting down to write my blog each evening is a good thing: it provides a record for me to read and re-live our adventures when we’re back at home, it might provide you, dear reader, an insight into- and possibly some inspiration? – to our travels, and it forces me to gather my thoughts, and reflect back on what we have done. A today, that is, perhaps, particularly important.
Its been cold, unseasonably cold, and this evening it has rained, and it would be easy for this – like the leaden grey colds in the sky – overshadow the day. But despite it being only 9 degrees when we left the apartment at 9 am, and edged its way up to a “high” of 12 degrees by 2 pm, we’ve seen and done a lot.
It began (after breakfast of tostada con tomate, of course!) we headed up to see a bit of street art we had spotted yesterday from our bus as we drove into the city:
And then, across the wall, was a collection painted on a wall alongside a busy road:
A selection of them individually:
After the modern, it was back to the old. We went to the Casa del Ray Moro (House of the Moorish King) (10 euros each) in the main so we could see the “water mine” and descend to a platform on the river. We descended 169 feet, on stone stairs in an old tower/shaft
and emerged onto a small platform on the river. It was picturesque and I would have said peaceful but we were visiting at the same time as a French couple (no problem) and three Americans. Problem. They did not stop talking, and they have no volume control. I couldn’t help but hear, in detail, about one of their’s difficulties in getting a visa. Self-awareness? Nada.
We ascended all 200 ish stairs back to the top, and then continued our ambles, taking in the ambience of this beautiful city. After lunch, the cold was beginning to seep into our bones, and curtailed our rambles. Back at the apartment, I snuck in a siesta, before we headed out back into the gathering gloom, and cold. We found somewhere to eat – inside! – and whilst we ate, rain began to fall. We lingered a little longer, ordering coffee, and timed our exit well – the rain had stopped, so we headed to see the bridge lit up, and grab a couple of photos.
We didn’t loiter, as more rain was forecast, and it duly arrived when we were a few minutes from home. Even the Ale Hop cow needed an umbrella!
A damp, cold end to the day, but looking back, we’ve done a lot. Good job I’ve blogged about it to jog my memory.
Today we moved from Nerja to Ronda – two bus journeys: Nerja to Malaga, then Malaga to Ronda, and a huge change in scenery and temperature. We woke to blue skies in Nerja and, although a little chilly as we headed out of our apartment at 9 am, it was warm in the sunshine, and by the time we arrived in Malaga and had a coffee between busses, we were once again basking in the sunshine. We then headed about 100 km north-east to Ronda, enjoying the scenery of the mountains on our two hour bus journey, and we’ve enjoyed everything about the town, except for the temperature – es un poco frio (a bit cold!) The long trousers have been on, along with fleeces, gillets and snoods! It was about 12 degrees when we arrived mid afternoon, and had fallen to about 9 degrees once the sun had set and we sat outside to dine! (It must be said, however, the food was fantastic – the best of the trip – and we were sat by an outdoor heater)
But it has been worth the low temperatures – Ronda is fantastic. You come for the bridge – the iconic new bridge , completed in 1793 – but for me it has been the breathtaking scenery of the Sierra de las Nieves national park that can be seen from this cliff top town that has been the highlight.
We crossed the new bridge, and then walked the path down from the town so you could look back up at the bridge, and then climbed our way back up the path – quite the ascent, we were shedding layers and reached the top in just our T-shirts! – before crossing back into the town via the old bridge and meandering our way along the most picturesque paths over looking the river gorge below.
We found a public park with a walk way that skirted the edge of the enormous rock formation on which Ronda sits and had our breath taken by the views across the plain to the distant mountains.
But that’s not all the city has to offer. It is the “birthplace” of modern bullfighting (to be fair, not something I’d personally be proud of) with a bullring we may explore tomorrow
and some street art we spotted as we drove in on the bus. We went back to find two of the pieces (at the bus station, where we got off the bus) and there are a few more we may seek out tomorrow.
Given that we’ve spent about 3 and a half hours on busses, we seem to have had a busy day, walked far and seen a lot. Ronda has impressed on many levels.
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.
