Travel blog update - only a month or so late

Yeah, yeah, yeah - I've been a tad delinquent in updating the travel blog from Spain. I'll try and keep up with the demand (how many of you have actually visited the blog and read about Granada and Madrid?) and post some pics.

If interested, more pics at my flickr account, fyi.

Anywho, after Granada, we drove back to Fuengirola on Monday and lounged by the pool. The pool scene was a trite scary, as 70-something Brits were trying to sunbathe topless. The 'resort' has two restaurants: an Italian joint and a standard cuisine. Well, that should be a standard British cuisine: curried meats, other meat, fish and chips, etc. The Italian joint was almost unedible and we felt sorry for the chaps that decided to eat there.

On Tuesday, we went into the town of Fuengirola and decided the entire town was visually boring and devoid of history or anything significant. When I went to Spain with my parents, my mom and I went to a flea market in Fuengirola and had a good time. My dad, on the other hand, didn't want to go and decided to relax at the beach. The local beach wasn't very conducive for sun bathing, so he asked if there was a more private beach with sand instead of beer bottles, fishing hooks, and jagged rocks. The hotel said there was a private beach, and we dropped him off on our way to the flea market.

Four or five hours later, mom and I drove back to the beach to pick him up. We drove to a little cabana at the top of the dunes and ordered a few beers in anticipation of him coming up with a parched throat from sunbathing. He didn't immediately show up, so we went to the edge of the dunes and peered over the side.

What we saw was soo funny .... oh, there's dad. And look at all of the naked old people (20 or so). Eeewww, one of them is running. Look at dad, he's the only one wearing his swimming trunks. Typical American.

Back to the current trek - Maggie and I decided to go the same flea market. We parked in downtown Fuengirola in a parking garage and walked 10 blocks or so to the promenade where the flea market was being held. Along the way, someone with a British accent and a clip board asked if we spoke English, to which we replied we did. She asked a few questions, and after hearing that we were Americans, she said she was sorry but the survey was for Brits-only. I'm pretty sure I don't sound like I'm from that side of the pond.

Turns out the flea market was not there, as a huge carnival was being set up. Rides, cotton candy, discos, yada yada yada. Of course the carnival would have started the day we were leaving Fuengirola. Figures.

Instead, we went to the central market in search of beer cans for my dad. The market was two floors - the first was littered with tourist crap. Ugh - but the second was a complete market full of fresh fish and produce. Maggie bought ground saffron as well as a paella mix, and we bought a kilo of shrimp.

In the afternoon, we decided to go to the town of Mijas, a small town just off the Malaga and Fuengirola sprawl. The Celts, Phoenecians, and Moors preceded the British tourists in Mijas, which now is a site of numerous tourist-trap shops, etc. We drove up the side of the mountain towards the center part of town trying to find a place to park. Eventually we did find a place to park and walked to the Plaza Virgen de la Pena. At the edge of the plaza is a stone grotto dedicated to the patron saint of Mijas: The statue of the Virgin Mary. Strange story, but the gist of it is a statue was unearthed by two children in a field in the late 16th century. An apparition or voices from above directed the children (and townsfolk) to unearth this statue, which had been buried for 500+ years. OK, sure, but why did it have a "Made in Taiwan" mark on the backside? Kidding ....

What was more impressive was Maggie dropping an American quarter to confuse the small electric votive candles. We scored two candles for a pretty worthless amount of American coinage.

Also, the views from the grotto's exterior were stunning. We had a panorama of the coast, stretching from Malaga to past Fuengirola. Apparently so did the future owners of this condo:

The cloud line was dropping, at one point obfuscating the mountain and soon the remainder of Mijas. The tourist buses left town and we were left with the entire town to ourselves!!

Mijas at night and shrouded by fog is interesting, something along the lines of a tame Sherlock Holmes thriller. A little eerie, quiet, disorienting. We wound up getting totally lost in the town, and walking for probably a good 30 minutes. Mijas isn't a large town, and with one or two main roads we shouldn't have to go far to see something recognizable.

Maggie kept saying that she could smell something dank, like manure. I couldn't - I was just completely turned around in the fog. Finally we gave up and found a bar, and Maggie asked a waiter. He looked surprised at us, and told us that we were 2 blocks away from where we had parked. The manure odor was from the donkeys that lug the Brits around in the daytime: turns out they are kept in pens by the plaza.

On the way back to the car (yes, we felt like idiots), we saw the grotto enshrouded by fog and took this picture: