Kicking back in Mijas, East of Marbella
Zagan the motorhome’s parked legally(ish), in an authorised(ish) aire just outside Mijas in between Marbella and Fuengiralo (N36.50473, W4.68381). The parking area, which is tucked in between one of the area’s many golf clubs and a broad gravel marketplace, is a short walk from the town and the ocean. We’re here with a handful of other motorhomes, and a small Citroen car which a Finnish family appear to be living in, a couple with their blonde-haired son, a saddening sight. The deal here is that you register with the police in the town, and receive dispensation to stay 48 hours as a result. Ju made a game attempt to do this, in Spanish, being told “ah, you can’t register from May to October”. OK, so are we able to stay? The shrug she received as an answer has been interpreted by us as “this is Spain, and the powers that be can’t make their minds up”, so we’ve stayed. No-one has turfed us out.
The authorised(?) motorhome parking area in Mijas. The big white sign states you have to go register with the police.
Yes, we did park up right next to the ‘Danger, you Might Get Hit by Golf Balls’ sign…
I’ve tried, not very hard I admit, to like the Costa del Sol, and I’ve failed. Mostly. Ju, as ever, is easy going about it all and handles my huffing, puffing and eye rolling with grace and patience. But in the end neither of us were up for staying in Fuengiralo. The last blog post was written in the afternoon while we were there. Come evening we’d rolled back the blinds, fired up the engine and driven down the free motorway here.
Various factors shoved us along, not least the group of fringe-drinkers and dropouts openly getting battered on the park nearby. Sure, they were drinking the same no-brand lager as me, and sure, you could apply both dropout and fringe to me too, but I suspect they noticed me a little less than I noticed them. The both of us couldn’t fail to notice the ‘Richard the Third’ which was deposited by either (a) a very large dog or (b) an average-sized human in the underpass next to the parking area (which trains rumbled over every few minutes), smearing it down the wall and leaving it in a distinctly desperate pile on the floor. Another bloke returning from the underpass doing his flies up was the final straw. Although it’s foolish to utter the word ‘never’, Fuengiralo, I am never going back to.
Mijas: a million times nicer than Fuengirola
Here in Mijas is a different proposition. Although we’re in danger of being whacked with wayward gold balls (just the one so far – and we’ve since shifted further away from the course), the parking area feels safer, quieter, and shortly after we arrived only had the one fringe drunk in it. Me. The town’s strung out along the beach, and the development’s bent a knee to the sea, made up of low-rise villas and apartment blocks. After a short walk along the sun-heated boardwalk, I practically ran back to Zagan, fired up our share-dealing account and bought big into After Sun manufacturers. Safe to say, there was some life-threatening redness being acquired on the €10 a day loungers. At one point on the way back I almost knocked myself unconscious on the wall-to-wall pecs of three English blokes (everyone’s English here) strutting like peacocks on the beach . Yes, I was jealous.
The beach in Mijas is pristine, currently being bullied back into place by a team of ‘dozers ready for the season proper. The town is white, and has a pleasant feel to it, all restaurants and small bars, with the unmissable opportunity to procure a motorhome-sized blow-up flamingo lilo thrown in. A leaflet from the tourist office tells us that Mijas Pueblo, the old town up on the hill, has a famous donkey taxi service, built up from the days when tourists would tip more than a day’s wages to peasants in return for a go on their steed.
I made a short, failed attempt to cycle up to the town earlier, getting distracted by cork oaks (yes, cork does grow on trees) and brand new luxury villas, complete with designer garden furniture and infinity pools. The latter had me staring. If development ever stopped here, it’s started up again, and in style. A small forest of cranes are swinging about in the hilly hinterland. A real estate paper has serious-looking suit-n-tie types relaying the fact Brexit’s reduced the number of British buyers, but the market’s got momentum again, and the missing Brits are being made up by other buyers. It’s buy-buy-buy again on the Costa del Sol.
New luxury villas sat waiting for punters looking over Mijas
So, after forgetting to pay the hosting bill for this blog, the hosting company disabled it, and I spent the morning trying to work out why it didn’t spring back to life after handing over the dosh. Ah, I’ve got the wrong name servers! What an idiot (!!!). They’re the right name servers now, after much faffing, but as this stuff has to copy itself around the world, and as the wrong settings get saved in people’s web browsers, it’ll take a day or two to fix itself. Sorry. Thanks again to everyone who helped out when we sent out a plea on Facebook and Twitter.
British cars are arriving by the lorry load, their owners are probably too busy working to pay for them to enjoy the beautiful drive across Spain
Ju’s been entertaining herself in the meantime getting an ACSI card. These things are worth every cent if you use European campsites out of season, and pay for themselves in just a few nights. The only thing is they’re a paper card, stamped into the cover of a book, which has to be posted somewhere, and we’re not usually anywhere for long. The villa had no letterbox and by the time we figured out that didn’t matter, it was too late. In the end Ju’s got it from amazon.es, and paid for quick delivery, so we’ll pile into the same campsite as Richard and Jenny (who we met in Estonia last summer and travelled with up Finland and into Norway) tomorrow, and hopefully pick it up there.
Ju takes to the super-heated back of a metal donkey in Mijas
Right, time to go! It’s cooled off enough for a wee attempt to learn some more Spanish, and then a pooch walk. Catch you later folks, cheers, Jay
Hey fringe ‘semi-anhebriates’ … we liked the spot you are in now and the life-size bronze donkey Ju is kicking, gee-up! We also know the vile urine underpass of Fuengrola, and have met many an extruder of the aforementioned King Richard’s finest example. Not exactly a jem of Spain’s coast, but we must take the rough with the smooth. There is beauty to be found, but hides well. Good luck on your route, you may come across more extruders yet, keep us posted. Kindest Wayne.
Agreed! There is beauty everywhere. This coastline is suffering from my continual comparison with the many pristine sea-facing environments we’ve had the luck to encounter. The Baltic sea near Riga, the coves of the Pelion Peninsular, the Arctic beaches, the Ile d’Oleron, those places fired my imagination. They would be pretty grim for a family needing a relaxing break from work though, stupidly hard to get to, and few distractions other than mother nature. Horses for courses… Sun shining, stocking up at Lidl then it’s campsite time for us three, cheers! Jay
That was one of your best ‘real life’ episodes yet, perfectly understated and with just enough humour. As Wayne writes, without the rough you have no comparison as to how good the smooth is.
Hi. If you are heading east avoid Torremolinos. Can recommend Nerja and a visit to the spectacular caves. Great beach at Burriana and you may get the camper in on the right going down the hill. The N340 road out towards La Herradura worth a look as well.
Thanks John, we’re going West at the moment in some sort of weird spiral effect on the map, but we’ll keep Nerja in mind for the future. Cheers, Jay
‘gold balls’ I’d pocket them and retire. Oh you already have, He He.
Estepona, and the area north is beautiful. Some stunning coastal views several miles north from Sotogrande.
Thanks Jeffrey. We’re at Cabopino and it’s cracking, beach backed by dunes and boardwalks, smashing! Cheers, Jay
When we lived in Spain it was just outside La Cala de Mijas and it was our favourite spot along the coast as it is not as developed for tourists as the other resorts. Olivia’s (scene of another “reality” TV show) and the TOWIE crowd have shoved the prices northwards in the town. Fuengirola was another town we liked, but you had to avoid the tourist trap areas and ghettos to find find the best areas.
But having revisited the Costa del Sol a few months ago in our motorhome, we don’t care if we ever see any of the Costas again. It is just a pity that to get the winter sun you have to stick to the coastal plains.
The journey north through Extremadura was a lot more notable with Badajoz and the medeival town of Cáceres standing out.