Sat 03.May.2014
Nerja, Andalucia, Spain
Nine sympathetic, apthetic, diabetic old men on roller skates, with a
marked propensity toward procrastination and sloth.
There must be eight more of me out there somewhere, and the skates are no doubt
on their way. Procrastination and sloth speak for themselves; I've been in five
cities since the start of April, and this will be only the second photo post I've
gotten up. Mea culpa! Concoct whatever explanations you find most entertaining,
and let's get on with it.
I have braved the infamous Costa del Sol, that southernmost Mediterranean
coast of Spain, notorious for massive high-rise tourist traps overrun by vacationing
furriners.
The Balcony of Europe
The resort town of Nerja is quite liveable. Well OK, it would be
all too easy to forget you are in Spain, unless you deliberately practice your Spanish.
I expect the Brits and Scandinavians figure that the mere presence of the
Sun establishes all the Spain they need.
A palm-lined promenade ends in a scenic viewpoint on a cliff over the sea.
King Alfonso XII dubbed this plaza The Balcony of Europe, and got himself a
life-size statue on the spot. My fellow turistas love to take each others'
photos standing with him.
Contrived? Perhaps, but it works. A daytime destination, the evening paseo.
At about 11:30 pm, I'm munching tapas at the inland end of the Balcony as I type this.
There are still abundant strollers, buskers, cafe sitters like me, despite the chill.
The days are comfortable enough here, but when the sun goes down, we still cool off
sharply. Summer this isn't.
Bougainvilla! Almost an echo of Rhodes, at the other end of the Mediterranean.
A giggle of teenage turistas, I think Danish. Their language was something
Scandinavian, anyway.
The biggest and nicest beach is about a half hour walk east from my room.
It is lined with a strip of chiringuitos (beachside bar/eateries), souvenir
shops and ice cream shops.
My daily rhythm here includes exercise-walking up there, parking myself in a
chiringuito with comfortable open-air seats, and nursing a soda and tapa while I
watch the people show and read a book on my kindle. I stretch it out by following
up with a coffee.
By the time I am ready to walk back to the center, the afternoon sun is low enough
to make good light for photos.
Over the week, I have accumulated at least half a
dozen takes of some of these shots. The change from film to digital photography
has sent my self-discipline to the winds.
That is Burriana down there, my afternoon hanging-out beach.
From the same spot... little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
A lot of the
Costa del Sol is high-rise versions of this scene. Nerja gets off easy.
Two stages in the life cycle of a cheap souvenir.
Signs. They have them here, too.
Eat Me.
Gains something in translation, doesn't it?
I have another page worth of pix from here in Nerja, to say nothing of the takings
from Malaga, Sevilla et al. Whether I get them up before I leave for Almeria
on Tuesday is anybody's guess.