Another seven kilometres

Today we hopped seven kilometres east along the N340 from the beach parking at Torrox Costa to a beach parking near Nerja. As if to reinforce the point I made in the last post about every place we visit telling a different story, the two places, so close you can actually see one from the other, have a completely different ambiance.

Nerja, though hardly undeveloped, is not really a sprawling resort, rather a collection of small 'urbanizacións' that dot the shore and low coastal hills around the town. Some of the developments are a quite swanky; however, the bits in-between, especially the ramshackle chiringuitas behind the beach, give the place a bit of a beach bum vibe.

This affects the mix of mohocans overnighting in the beach car parks. In Torrox gleaming white vans with elderly owners predominate, among them monster Cathargos and Concordes. Here at Playa Playazo it's a more a mixed bunch, including younger people with ancient, but well loved Hymers, idiosyncratic self builds and the odd graffiti enhanced bus conversion. No rules, plenty of space, a view of the sunset like an Ibiza chill-out bar on wheels - much more our thing .

 It does help that it has been a glorious day from dawn to dusk, for the most part cloudless and mild. Almost shorts and tee weather, the cool breeze demanded a light zippy top - but it is mid January after all.

The Sierra de Tejeda rises to over 6000 feet behind the shore. A few clouds bubbled up in the afternoon. It was one those very relaxed kind of days where simply watching the cloud shadows becomes mildly addictive.

Towards evening the clouds dissipated into cotton wool balls above the mountains and wisps on the horizon. As twilight gathered they turned pink. It was a pretty enough for me to announce on Facebook 'The International Day of the Fluffy Cloud'. 

Hmm, barely ten days into the trip, already there are surefire signs that I am going 'soft in the head', a phrase much bandied about in the neighbourhood I grew up in, denoting behaviour that transgressed class or gender norms. It was assumed that any boy from the estate who went to grammar school was doomed to go soft in the head. Which I duly did.