Quote Of The Day

"Victory goes to the player who makes the next-to-last mistake - Chessmaster Savielly Grigorievitch Tartakower (1887-1956)"

Monday, June 06, 2022

Mijas…

Yesterday Darren, Vince, Stuart and I took a break from partying and headed to the hills.

Mijas is a delightful mountain town lightly floating way up in the hills with a view back down towards the heavily built-up coast.

Painted white the town is chiefly a tourist destination. Music was drifting from the main plaza as we arrived, a smattering of partially filled restaurants were serving tapas to order, charming narrow streets gentle lead the curious up to equally charming little squares. Gaily coloured flower pots, pretty little blue doors, and delightful alleyways completed the chocolate box vibe.

Less delightful were the line of exhausted little donkeys waiting to pull tourists round. Flicking flies away with their ears they looked sad and uncared for. Some looked on their last legs. Literally. Shaking to stand.

At the top of the town was a small bullring. Seeming now used for symbolic dance shows with pictures outside of women dressed in fine black dresses being bullish and brightly festooned matadors going through their prancing motions. Red flag if ever I saw one.

After a few hours we hopped on a bus back down to the coast stopping in Fuengirola. We’d taken the hour long journey up to Mijas direct from Torremolinos by bus so thought Fuengirola would make a nice pitstop for some sundowners on the way home. How wrong we were. Fuengirola is a dump. The worse version of Brits abroad. Sports Bars blaring out rugby/footy at full volume. Drunken gangs of men. Gammons sitting outside The Irish Bar or The London Pub moaning about the Spanish and the heat. We couldn’t get out fast enough. Well, after a cocktail in Lola’s. After all she had lost her youth, her Tony, and her mind; she wasn’t going to lose our custom too.

Boarding the train back to Torremolinos we noticed how basic some of the tower lock hotels were in Fuengirola. Many even had barbed wire fences. We played the game “Prison or Hotel?” Yes, that bad.


Back in Torremolinos we looked around with fresh eyes and thought, actually it’s quite nice here.























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