FRIGILIANA – A White Village

The wind finally subsided. Yesterday all the doorway curtains were billowing and flapping like spinnakers in a yacht race.  It’s warmer too, but the whole valley is draped in a hazy mist . . . like looking through a net curtain.  Maybe the coast will be clearer.  No … Malaga was just the same.  The Mediterranean obscured in a blanket of white, with the occasional glimpse of a ghostly ship before it was swallowed again.

We headed north on a smooth, fast highway.  Important traffic signs are clear and ringed in flashing lights so there’s no excuse should the Guardia Civil pull you over.  But you had to be on your toes as you neared towns and cities – the speed signs altered faster than you could change gears . . . 120 …  dropping to 60 for roundabouts … back up to 100 … no, no . . . it’s 80 through the tunnel …  120 again … oh there’s another roundabout!  Yikes!  And when the Porsche in front is obeying all speed signs, it’s probably advisable to follow suit.  By law,  all vehicles HAVE to carry fluorescent vests for each passenger, in case an emergency necessitates getting out while on a highway.  Its an instant ticket if not … even if it was the Guardia Civil who pulled you over in the first place! (I checked … We have two in the glove compartment).

Frigiliana – one of the small white villages near Nerja  – was our destination for lunch. An impossibly pretty Pueblo built into a mountainside overlooking the sea (although not today).  Residents are obviously very proud of their properties … brilliantly white walls with contrasting iron railings, not only black, but blue, brown or turquoise .  Cascades of magenta bougainvillea  … pots of sun-yellow or apricot hibiscus and cobblestones in designs of gray, black and white.

We left the car lower down and walked up … through what was obviously local residential streets.  Little old Señoras with shopping bags, or Señores taking a morning constitutional.  A local store with boxes of fruit and veg outside … three types of mangoes – all sizes … and look, fresh clementines still with their leaves on.  First of the season from Malaga.  Stuffing four into a bag, I went in to pay.  Like Aladdin’s cave, this small tienda had everything … well stocked shelves … an incredible deli and meat counter … fresh bread. It was delightful to edge one’s way around and stand in line, listening to the banter and gossip among the regulars.  One old dear positioned her basket under the till (out of the way) so she could shuffle off and pick up items without having to lug a heavy basket around … people in the queue just stepped around it.  Another seemed to be having difficulty with her change, so the shop owner gently counted out the coins while keeping up a conversation.  I could stand here all day!  At my purchase (all of €1.57) the owner exclaimed “Ah, estas son muy buenas” – these are very good!

Passing a promising-looking Indian restaurant, we noted it opened at one (like most respectable lunch time establishments in Spain) and made plans to return then.  Rounding the corner into the main plaza, we were greeted by a veritable sea of humanity … brandishing cameras, guide books and walking poles … crowded into tent-covered eating areas or spilling over into outdoor patios or the picturesque steep laneways.  The tour buses had arrived!  It was difficult to walk about without inadvertently stepping into someone’s camera shot.  I’m awfully glad we saw the non popular areas first.

The Indian restaurant – Spices – was open by the time we returned.  The floors still damp and spotless from a vigorous scrubbing. We had the place to ourselves (it was off the beaten track) and our window table overlooked the valley and tumble of white-washed villas.  We enjoyed a welcome breeze and a bottle of cold water.  The proprietor … a very personable young fellow originally from Manchester, by way of Reading and then Nerja/Frigiliana for the last 17 years (his accent was a perfect blend of all three) said he loved living, working and bringing up his young family in the area … with three sons attending the school we could see from the window.  He offered to cook up something completely off the menu – with fresh ingredients to hand.  Yes please!  Although our suggested ‘Medium’ was more of a ‘Mild’, the flavours of spices and fresh herbs burst through.  Tender chunks of chicken and vegetables in a creamy curry sauce, perfectly cooked basmati rice with saffron and a roti fresh from the tandoor oven.   Delicious.

Happy and full, we strolled downhill (thankfully) to retrieve the car,  and drove on to see what was at Nerja (pronounced Ner-ha).  Nothing hugely exciting as it turns out … just another resort town on the Costa del Sol, though perhaps a little quieter … and certainly today as the mist stubbornly refused to lift despite the stiff onshore breeze.  Some hardcore sun-tanners dotted the beach  (there were a few weak rays filtering through) and children happily constructing sand castles in the sand and pebbles. I imagine the deserted beach we used to visit most Sundays waaaay back looks very like this one does now.  We dabbled fingers in the Mediterranean.  The beach shelved away steeply and probably has a rather nasty undertow.  Away to the right a kite-surfer prepared his rig … waiting for the parasail to fill and rise, before pushing his surfboard into the waves . . . and he was off.  Hurtling across the water, the board rising up on a hydrofoil.  Within seconds he was a small dot.  I think he’s done this before.  He zoomed back and forth as we watched for a while, before driving along the coast road and back to Antequera.