Nerja

I was in Nerja for one night, again after recommendations from a friend at work. Much like Ronda, my hostel was more like a large apartment with several rooms, and I had my own. It wasn’t as pretty as the one in Ronda, and there wasn’t the same kind of view from the terrace, but for the price it was well worth it.

It was situated on the edge of the town, so my immediate vicinity wasn’t too picturesque, but it was only a five-minute walk or so to where the Balcony of Europe was located. As I hit the promenade, the town transformed into a little gemstone of a resort.

The Balcony of Europe is a famous clifftop viewing platform and promenade, offering panoramic views of the Mediterranean and the adjacent coastline. The views were gorgeous and I drank it all in from various points on the circular platform that extended into the sea.

Following a few moments of reflection, where I lost myself staring out to sea, I went inside the Iglesia El Salvador (it’d been a while since I visited a church on this trip and given that’s the thing to do when in Europe, why not add another to the mix?).

I then ambled aimlessly, breathing in the sea air, seemingly wandering nowhere, but somehow finding myself on a pathway that led down to a spectacular beach. It offered a different perspective that transformed Nerja from a quaint old town to a Costa Del Sol beach resort with several bars and restaurants. It wasn’t quite as bustling as many of the other famed resorts along the coast, appearing to offer quietness and tranquillity that would make a weeklong break worth the trip. Perhaps it was quieter because of the time of year.

After a pit stop for a soft drink in one of the beachfront bars, I headed back. I climbed up steps and slight inclines again (typical) until I ended up back in the old town. I had more of a mooch down a few different alleyways to see what was going on… not much. I circled back on myself to hit the main square again and bar hopped, having a bottle of beer in each.  It wasn’t exactly busy, just pleasant, and I felt relaxed in such soothing surroundings.

In one of the bars, I met an older couple from Warrington who were travelling around Andalusia for a few months. I spent some time talking to them before I started to feel hungry. Their recommendation took me to a nearby, archetypical Spanish walkway.

I was pleasantly surprised to see a narrow, lively strip with many original restaurant/bars clustered together and people sat on the chairs outside. I settled on one with a good Google rating which resembled a cave inside due to the abundance of archways within the compound. I was fortunate to get a table as it really started to get busy soon after. The quality of the food mirrored its popularity.

After that I found a bar further up called El Limonero. It was pretty quiet but had an enjoyable ambience, and I was able to have a laugh in there with two German men and a fellow Brit who had worked rigging stages for ITV, amongst other companies. The barmaid was a 9ft 56inch Dutch woman, who was also great fun and everyone in the bar seemed to get involved bantering with each other.

The German dudes and the Brit ended up leaving, and the atmosphere died a little. From what I could tell there weren’t really any other proper bars around, only the restaurant types, and this was a Friday night.

I was setting myself up to settle for a lowkey night when six girls came into the bar and two were speaking Cockney English. I got chatting to them and it turned out the other four were Swedish. They were on a work night out as the main girl, Rachel, owned her own property company in Nerja. They told me that there was a lively side to Nerja called ‘Tutti Frutti’ Square, about a ten-minute walk away, and they were heading down to grab some food and then to go out drinking. They asked me if I’d like to meet them after they had food. It sounded like this area was the place to be, so I headed down on my own after stopping at my hostel first to get rid of the bag I’d carried around all day.

To my complete surprise, I found that ‘Tutti Frutti’ Square was a devilish side to Nerja that resembled a mini-Benidorm. There were several bars spread over two areas and a couple were loud and busy. Instead of venturing into either of these joints, I stayed true to my roots and found a rock bar called El Cuervo. It had artwork of Black Sabbath on the walls and music that suited Firevolt Rock Festival firing from the speakers. If memory serves, I think I walked in as ‘Crazy Train’ by Ozzy was playing.

I had a couple of beers and then scoped out one of the lively places from earlier, but I sat outside away from the hordes of youths that congregated inside.

Moving on I found the girls eating at a kiosk stand outside. I sat with them until they finished their bottle of wine. They were going to a place with a live band playing and I was invited to tag along. When we got in the band were in full flow, playing songs from bands such as Kings of Leon, The Killers, and Franz Ferdinand - music from my university days. Without hesitation, I was on the dancefloor and throwing some shapes about like I was back in Leadmill, Sheffield and it was 2004. This would never happen back home these days, but I was away and did not give one shit. No one knew me out here and confidence was oozing out of me. I was in full flow, consumed by the travel vibe and what it entailed.

I danced most of the night and ploughed drinks down me with the property girls, who were proving to be good fun and a bit bonkers themselves. After the band finished we made our way back to the bar I was in earlier, but sat inside, drinking shots. This was not a good idea. I was only in Nerja for one night and needed to catch a bus back to Malaga for the final leg of my trip at around noon the next day. But I was here for one night only and my mindset was to live it up and enjoy it.

We ended up back at El Cuervo Rock Bar where Jack Daniels made an appearance. It was 3:30 in the morning and I was bleary eyed. Metallica’s full 8 ½ minute rendition of ‘Master of Puppets’ pounded away in the background, and after reliving the scene from Stranger Things in my head while waiting for it to finish, I decided the best thing to do was to go back to the hostel and get some sleep as I had to be up at around 10am.

What an unexpected night it had been. What threatened to fizzle off into a few wines in sophisticated restaurant bars turned into a session reminiscent of my university days. I was rolling back the years. A huge thanks to the property girls, who showed me a side of Nerja I never would’ve encountered if not for them.

I awoke in a drunken stupor… probably my first real day of feeling rough on this trip that was self-inflicted. I laboured to gather my stuff and threw it into my bag. I was past caring about any kind of structure to packing. I had an hour to kill so went for breakfast to soak up the alcohol and a couple of cups of coffee to wake me up a little more.

I waited for the bus and there was no shelter, so I stood baking and sweating alcohol for fifteen/twenty minutes till the bus arrived. Again, the token questions were asked, ‘Is this the bus going to Malaga?’

The ride was about 1hr 15mins long and then I had to navigate Malaga train station, which was over the road from the bus station and a much more attractive building inside and out. Fortunately, the train ride to Torremolinos was only twenty minutes.

Torremolinos

I’d landed in Torremolinos for the final three nights of the trip. With the station being slap bang in the centre, it was only a few minutes’ walk to my hotel.

I had planned to end this trip with a bit of luxury and reward myself for all the travelling, cheap hotels and hostels I’d stayed in. Torremolinos was chosen because of its close proximity to the airport. I wasn’t too bothered which resort I ended in. After all, it was late October so I knew it wouldn’t be rammed, but a quiet chill was perfect for what I wanted.  But the truth is, by the time it came to this point I could’ve carried on ‘slumming’ it because I was becoming so immersed and accustomed to it - and loving life as a traveller. Of course, the idea of staying in a fancier hotel wasn’t something I was going to baulk at. It was still a welcomed end to the trip.

I stayed at the Fénix Torremolinos, which was an adults only hotel. Perfect… no screaming kids around the pool or the bar. It was rather posh, with an outside bar that looked out onto the sea from the 7th floor. Torremolinos was on a slope (surprise surprise), so the views were from a high vantage point, and with the sea breeze whistling through the terrace, it made for a suitable spot to sit with an ice-cold beer.

Torremolinos was everything I didn’t want, yet everything I needed at the end. The token ‘Brits Abroad’ type resort was not part of the travel itinerary or mantra, but being out of season, it served as the perfect tonic to an exhausting trip and would be a place where I could rest for three days, reflect in a peaceful environment, and get myself ready for my return home.

The place was, as predicted, relatively quiet for the time of year and full of older couples. It wasn’t the most picturesque of places in the town, but the beach looked OK.

The hangover from the morning had subsides, so I planned to have a good booze sesh on my first night, especially as it was a Saturday, and then use the next two days and nights as recuperation and rest.

I ate in a fancy place and had a steak before going over the road to find I was in a bar full of Spaniards, which I didn’t expect for such a Brit heavy resort. After one beer I made my way towards the centre, where it was more like ‘Brits Abroad’ territory.

The bars were all quiet, but there were quite a few people knocking about on the streets. There were a couple of groups of guys who were obviously on some sort of Jolly Boy’s outing, but why they chose Torremolinos at this time of year for a lads’ trip was bemusing.

I went into an Irish bar that looked pretty central but was still relatively quiet. I spoke to the barmaid and asked where would be good to go. She asked with a cheeky smile, ‘Depends what you’re looking for?’ Ok, so I did have a semi-flamboyant holiday shirt on, and I half forgot that Torremolinos has a huge gay scene, and I do forget that both my ears are pierced too, so my question was misconstrued. I assured her I was not looking for that, and I am not that way inclined, but she mocked and laughed at me as I fumbled with my explanation. I revised my line of questioning, simply asking if there was a lively area with bars that I was missing because it wasn’t in this vicinity. She told me to head up the path as there might be a few places but confirmed my initial thoughts that we were out of season, so not to expect it to be like Ibiza in the height of summer.

I sat outside a bar where the chairs basically looked onto the pedestrianised area of a shopping centre, which wasn’t ideal. I took a walk further up and heard live music firing out from a tiny bar called Rock & Beats. The place was full and it was bouncing. I walked straight in, grabbed a beer, and went straight onto the small dancefloor (much like the previous night in Nerja) to get myself involved. The place was rocking out as I danced to the Spanish band’s renditions of famous rock and pop songs, and a couple of impressive original numbers they performed.

I was having a great time, but by the end of the night after the band finished, I had to leave as I was being accosted by what I assumed was a Colombian prostitute, who couldn’t speak a word of English and was after my number. Not a chance. It had been a good night of boozing, and I felt this was my last blowout of the holiday. How many times do you come back off holiday feeling like you need another to get over it? This wasn’t what I wanted, so I’d earmarked the last two days to be very easy on the drink, nothing strenuous walking wise, and just to chill and be ready for home.

My second day started with a bizarre incident at the breakfast place a few minutes from my hotel where I’d chosen to eat. Ok, so I omitted a section out from the previous night so that I could tell the full story at this point. Before I hit the Irish Bar, I went somewhere else first that was a bit more like a restaurant, but it had football on. I’d decided to stop the aimless wandering and just get a drink… anyway, I digress.

So, I’d been in there thirty minutes or so and only a few couples were in there, but I had noticed a girl sat on her own, and she remained on her own for a good half an hour while I was sat on a table behind her. Now, I don’t know why I did what I did next, because I have never done anything remotely like it in my life, but I was at the end of my trip, riding high on a confidence and euphoria wave, and simply thought it would be nice to buy this lady a drink.

I decided to do adopt a more American approach to this idea. I called the waiter over and politely requested that he ask the girl sat on her own if she wanted a drink on me. He went over and asked. She turned and declined, but with a sort of shocked laughter and politeness about it. The waiter came over and apologised and said she was with one of the bar staff. I interpreted that as she was with one of the bar staff. But, no harm, no foul. I was genuinely being polite with no ulterior motive than buying into the mindset of a friendly traveller offering to buy a girl sat on her own a drink. I thought nothing of it and enjoyed the rest of my night as described.

So, back to the breakfast cafe I visited…as I turned the corner to where the place was, a girl turned the corner at the exact same moment… we looked at each other and it took me a second to recognise her, but she spoke first, ‘I know you, right?’

        ‘Erm…am the guy who offered to buy you a drink last night.’ I said, guilty as charged.

        ‘Yes, of course. I must apologise. You caught me off guard and I didn’t know how to react, so I just said no.’

        I laughed, and we carried on talking. She was called Mandy and was German but spoke perfect English, albeit with an accent. She was busy for the rest of the day and evening but asked if I’d like to meet her for breakfast at the same place the next day… on my last day. I agreed and we said our goodbyes. I went for my full English brekkie a bit weirded out at the coincidence I had just experienced… I mean, what are the chances, c’mon?

After breakfast I took a brief walk down the beach, stopping at a bar for a soft drink while Celtic were playing. It was 1pm and when I looked around, I was the only one drinking a soft drink… crazy Jocks. After that, I went for a rest and sleep by the pool in prep for a big game on later.

It was probably a blessing that premier league football missed a weekend while I was away, so Man United couldn’t ruin my trip, but on my final weekend it returned, and it just so happened that Man United were playing Liverpool. My immediate reaction before I went away was that I didn’t want to watch it, but how could I not? I’ve been away three times before while this fixture was going on, and although I had never watched the game due to being in America for all three occasions, we had never won (2 losses and a draw which was essentially a loss as it was in the Europa League 2nd leg where we had to win).

This time, in Spain, European soil, beer in tow, I sat nervously watching it. It turned out to be a good change in omen as United won 2-1 with a late goal.

I was in celebratory mood, but due to the town being quiet, the night kind of fizzled out. Sometime around 21:30 I decided to return to my hotel bar and that was a much better decision. I was sat on the terrace with only a few couples around. I had a glass of cava in tow and listened to the cool, ambient, soul music playing whilst I looked out to the sea in a state of quiet, supreme jubilation, grinning to myself about what I was on the cusp of accomplishing. It was what I needed at that point as opposed to any kind of hedonistic night out. I was back in my luxurious, comfy room well before midnight and I relished that.

My last day ended with the pleasant experience of meeting Mandy for breakfast. It turned out she was a journalist for her local paper, so it was very interesting chatting to her and sharing our writing experiences and the commonality of the writing process and the creativeness that goes into it.

We spoke for hours at breakfast, and she said as it was my last day, I got to choose what I wanted to do. I simply chose to stay and just hang out. I was in no rush to go anywhere and had no plans, so chatting to a fellow traveller from a different country was the ideal way to end the trip… kind of fitting really.

We did break for a while we got showered and changed as we said we’d have dinner together in the early evening. The day was an ultimate chill to end the trip with. I didn’t want a late one at all as my flight was at 10:30 in the morning and I didn’t want to return tired, so I called it a very early night after we ate tapas in a nearby restaurant. I was grateful Mandy spent the day with me and hung out, fitting the trip’s remit till the final possible moments. It was all very relaxed and comfortable and the ideal way to end the experience. 

The next day I took the ten-minute train to Malaga airport instead of a taxi. I was adamant that I wanted to end the trip the way I went into it. I did the same at Manchester Airport. I could’ve got a taxi and been home in thirty minutes, but I took a train to Manchester Piccadilly… then a tram to Bowker Vale… and then I even waited for a bus where I would usually have got a taxi, which all took me about an hour and a half. I felt it was important to end the whole trip as I began and had lived it. I loved that I stuck to the travel mindset until the end. I took a taxi on the way to the train station sixteen nights earlier… I didn’t do that on the way back. There has been growth.