Costa del Sprawl

It's been warm and sunny since we flew back just over a week ago, so we have no desire to rush about. In fact, the odometer is telling me we have travelled less than forty miles in the last nine days. It is the weather rather than the surroundings that keeps us here. From Malaga for thirty miles or so in each direction the coastline is a sprawl of resorts punctuated by scraps of agricultural land, market gardens and patches of orchard - avocados and mangos mainly. 

It's not unpleasant, it is what is is - an urbanised coast. The Wikepedia article about the Costa del Sol likens the area to Southern California. I can see that, after all, you would hardly head to Santa Monica or Manhattan Beach for a bit of peace and quiet. Yesterday evening while staring at the Phillip's European road atlas we use for journey planning the thought struck me, at what point did this stretch of coast become the 'Costa del Sol'. 

As ever, Wikipedia to the rescue. Malaga had a very small, but aristocratic winter tourist trade in the 1920s. When 'Hotel Miremar', the first beach front development in the nearby village of Marbella opened in 1933 the owners "promoted this hotel, and the city of Marbella in English and in French, using the expressions "Sunny Coast" and "Côte du Soleil "in all its stationery and lampoons," so the article says. This initial tourist boom was short lived, the Spanish Civil War and WW2 disrupted development. However the earlier phrase was adopted by planners in the early 1960s. Bardot and the 'jet-set' duly arrived, Torremolinos built its high-rise for the masses and the rest is history. Costa del Sol leapt from marketing ploy to geographical fact in less than two decades - and here we are, among the seaside sprawl and the avocado groves; us, and thousands of other grey haired moho escapees from the north.

I think the only way to avoid becoming depressed by it is to simply accept you are in the middle of a coastal conurbation, and like you might do on any city visit seek out the charming bits among the grunge. Nobody flies to New York and heads straight for the Bronx. Everywhere has some redeeming feature. For example, Valle Niza campsite is positioned by a nice, undeveloped beach and gets beautiful sunsets.

The 'area autocaravanas' run by the port authority at Caleta de Velez is next to a pleasant promenade, the cafes and restaurants look good and there is always something interesting going on at a fishing port - guys mending nets, gulls and parakeets scrapping for food.

Finding the charms of where we are now is a little more challenging. Camping El Pino is situated halfway between Torrox town and Torrox Costa, which it overlooks. If you were seeking somewhere to typify an ugly 1970s 'fun in the sun' development, Torrox Costa would have to be a candidate.

The campsite is also a tad bargain basement. It's clean and well maintained, but the facilities are ancient and the plumbing in the sanitary block has a distinct pong. Steeply terraced pitches and low-branched trees make it tricky to manoeuvre the van. We are here mainly to do some laundry and empty the tanks so we can go off-grid for a few days.

Still, it was an interesting walk down to the coast yesterday. The smallholdings and market gardens are somewhat ramshackle but astonishingly productive. The view inland towards the mountains is spectacular, the highest peak reaching 6000' a mere five miles from the shore.

Geography as well as economics has shaped the sprawl. Only the sliver of flat land by sea has all year warmth, avocado orchards and wrinkled tourists vie for its winter sun. A few miles inland it remains sunny, but daytime temperatures hover in the the lower teens, at night frequently dropping towards zero. So like everyone else we hug the shore even though there are beautiful places in the Alpujarras less than 30km inland which even in winter time offer opportunities for walking, and villages with free 'sleepy spots'. Here's the downside, I've just checked our thermometer - at 4.30 pm. parked next to the sea the outside temperature is 20°; according to AccuWeather, right now in the Alpujarran village of Orjiva, just beyond the Sierra Almijara that l can see from my window it is 2°. No doubt a few hardy Nordic walking enthusiasts might be intrepid enough to head inland, but hardy and intrepid is what we are not, escaping the cold is why we have flown south, like everyone else. 

This stark fact has made us to re-think our plans. More exactly, it led Gill to gently suggest that the route I had sketched out, heading up the coast towards Alicante, then across inland Spain through Albacete, Toledo, Segovia and Zaragoza, was a 'mad idea in winter.' I am a bit sad about this as we have not visited the centre of Spain yet, but she is right. Instead we will continue up the coast all the way to Valencia arriving there in late February. Then we'll make a decision, either northwards via Teruel and Logroño crossing the border into France on the Atlantic coast, or alternatively, carry straight up the Mediterranean coast to the Costa Brava, then head home using the A75 to Millau and Clermont-Ferrand. Surprisingly, there is only 6 miles difference between the two routes - measured from Valencia to Calais - both around 1150 miles.

Now that we are in nerdy journey planning mode (a favourite Pete pastime), this brings me to the slightly awkward fact that from here to Valencia is a mere 272 miles and we have roughly 40 days to get there. I think we are going to have to embrace the sprawl, seek occasional solace in the rare bits of emptiness and simply accept our place in the Mohocan tribe, just another couple of wrinkly northerners hiding from winter. Expect regular dispatches, the usual mix of prejudice, half-baked theory and amateurish attempts at anthropology.